


Captain America: Winter's Ghost

by Legume_Shadow



Series: Captain America: In the Line of Duty (Series) [3]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cold War, Gen, Hints of an ongoing slow burn on Steve's part when it comes to Bucky, Inspired by Le Carre's novels, Some hurt and very little comfort, Spycraft, Stale Beer Spycraft, Steve is protective of his team – like papa wolf protective, Steve's feelings about Bucky are a lot like a Gordian knot, Superhero Thriller Spycraft (Hopefully), Time Travel, so much spycraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-08-05 16:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 59,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16370711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legume_Shadow/pseuds/Legume_Shadow
Summary: It's not everyday that one gets to travel back in time, and witness the two best intelligence operatives in the world clash in a deadly game of cat and mouse within the backdrop of the Cold War. It's Peggy Carter versus the Winter Soldier, and Steve Rogers is stuck in the middle.





	1. Welcome to the Land of the Free

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Point of View](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3245858) by [Shadow_Chaser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Chaser/pseuds/Shadow_Chaser). 



> First Publishing: October 2018, AO3  
> Disclaimer: All characters (except for the ones created by me) belong to their respective owners. No profit is being made from this work of fiction.
> 
> Theme Music: 'Sleeper' by Ninja Tracks

 

**Chapter 1: Welcome to the Land of the Free**

_Era: Cold War_

_Location: Classified_

_Status: En-route to mission start_

 

Insertion had no complications, at least none that he was aware of, as he adopted a rather bored look and gazed listlessly out of the taxi's passenger window. He kept his thoughts running in English, as it made it easier for him to adapt and continue infiltration. Passing through Customs had been relatively easy, especially with the cover that he had been given. His luggage had been inspected with nothing more than a cursory glance through the contents by officials before he was sent on his way. Said luggage was in trunk of the taxi, as per the usual motions of a business traveler returning Stateside.

The only caveat in his mission: he did not need the luggage or its contents.

While his handler, Karpov, had told him that it was common for most business travelers to return home after a trip abroad, his insertion point and the city where his mission was to take place was anything but routine or common. Still, observing the locals – not the suited individuals – and their everyday routines would be most conducive to a successful infiltration.

“Here you are, sir,” the driver stated, as he felt the car slow down and pull over. Paying the driver the appropriate fare and extra for the tip as he had been ordered to do by Karpov, he got out and got his luggage out of the trunk.

Standing by the curbside for a moment as the taxi pulled away, he waited a few moments longer before letting his gaze roam up the facades in this street full of houses. Though it was nighttime, he could still see most of the details clearly, even with the orange-yellow glow of street lights illuminating everything with that sickly color. This neighborhood's neatly manicured lawns and iron gates screamed an excess of wealth that he remembered Karpov saying would have been better off being distributed elsewhere, but it was of no concern to him.

His lingering at the sidewalk, luggage in hand, was just enough for him to assess the situation – there was one car a half-block away that had looked suspicious. It's had no occupants inside, but a tiny sliver of reflective light sitting against the backside of the rear view mirror in the car had given away the fact that someone had planted an unusually small microphone in the car.

One of the residents in this street of wealthy houses was being watched by government agencies – most likely SHIELD. They were the only intelligence agency with the means to develop such an unobtrusive device thus far. However, considering where the car was parked, the person being watched was more than likely living a few houses down.

This house before him, was as much of a safe house as it was a residence for a pair of agents permanently stationed here. The mission briefing had stated that the male half of the agents was currently in California for a 'conference', and would not return until well after the mission was complete. He had been briefed to go to this particular address, drop the luggage off with the female agent, and begin his mission immediately after that. What reason that went behind it was not known to him, but it didn't matter. The operatives most likely had usage for the luggage he was about to drop off.

As he walked to the iron gate, he reached out with his left hand and grasped the handle. It unlatched with little manipulation and he stepped in. Closing the gate behind him, he made his way up the pathway and steps, and paused. Raising his gloved left hand up, he applied just enough force behind his knocking that it would be audible to the agent within.

He could hear some shuffling and movements beyond the door, but didn't have to wait long as a feminine voice asked, “Who is it?”

“Albert's cousin, Jonathan,” he answered using the contact phrase. “I'm a little early.”

“Yes, you are,” the woman answered after a few moments before opening the door, accepting the passphrase.

Unremarkable in every way, including her dressage, posture, and demeanor, the woman was as his handler had described: the perfect everyday infiltrator to ensure that information from the West kept flowing to the East. He didn't care for such descriptions though, as he could see that she was as wary of him as he was of her. However, niceties still needed to be had as she gestured for him to enter.

He entered with little formality, but only took the necessary three steps into the hallway to allow her to close and lock the door behind him. “Leave the luggage there,” she ordered as soon as she brushed past him.

He obeyed her command, and left the luggage he had been carrying leaning against the wall. Her American accent was impeccable, as he could hear absolutely no trace of any forced conditioning. He had not been given a dossier on her, but then again, they were both way points for each other; a way for their motherland to give their agents here the necessary assistance.

“First right, through the kitchen,” she said, continuing to walk down the hall and into another room. “Suitcase on the counter top has what you need. Out the back, through the trees forming a 'V' is the path.”

Acknowledgments were not needed as he merely strode through the directions given, picked up the innocuous-looking suitcase with his left, and proceeded into the backyard. High fences surrounded the small garden, giving him privacy, but that still did not preclude him from looking around to see if there were any cameras of the sort. Due to recent incidents, his weapon had to have been broken apart and shipped separately to various places within the region. That had included the slugs custom-made for the rifle.

Cautiously, but casually making his way to the 'V'-shaped trees that would lead him through and into the path out of the neighborhood, he slipped out of the way point house with no incident. Reaching up with his right hand, he pulled the tightly-glued wig that he had been wearing off, and dropped that into a sewage grating on the side of the sidewalk. Next came the flesh-colored rubbery piece that had been glued and formed against his jawline and throat to change its shape. That went into another sewage grating as well.

Piece by piece, he stripped himself of the disguise he had worn to enter here and to ensure that the way point contact did not know who he was. By the time he had finished removing every piece of his disguise, he was in a section of the city that any normal resident would consider 'seedy'. He was also now dressed only in the familiar weight of his black fatigues. The gleam of his silver left arm with its bright blood red star faintly reflected the flickering street lights.

Tightening his grip on the suitcase that contained his sniper rifle and cartridges, the Winter Soldier slipped back into the shadows of Washington DC, en-route to his target.

* * *

_Era: Modern_

_Location: Unknown location within the Siberian region, Russia_

 

“When SHIELD goes missing, what do you do? Call in another SHIELD, or rather have another SHIELD call you by coincidence. From another reality no less, because quantum physics is strange.”

Steve flicked his eyes over towards Natasha for a brief moment, snorting softly in laughter at her murmured words. Breathing in the bitterly cold air that surrounded them at this latitude and region, he unfolded his arms as he saw the indicator light on the corner of the heavy bunker door turn green. Not a few moments later, the door to the underground disused Soviet silo that had formerly contained five Winter Soldiers, opened. Two people emerged, bundled up for the cold, with one of them carrying a small device that Steve did not recognize.

Surprisingly, Wakanda had opted to keep the link between this reality and the other one open. For what reasons, he could only guess, as the technology was definitely beyond his comprehension. However, they had staffed the area under heavy secrecy and guard. The official story was that the Wakandans were ensuring that any traces of what Zemo had done here were gone. With the SHIELD-Inhuman alliance on the other side guarding it as well, Steve was relatively confident that nothing that bode ill-will would get through.

At the present though, Steve waited patiently as both people stopped for a moment, eyes focused on him, or rather, tracing across his appearance. Then those same pairs of eyes flicked over towards Natasha, with the female of the pair unable to contain her slight shock, though she did not drop the device in her hand. Taking the opportunity before anything else could happen, he closed the distance, extending a gloved hand out towards the two.

“Good to see both of you again, Captain Barnes and Agent Johnson,” he said, as the creaking of the door behind the two indicate that the silo was going to be once again, sealed.

James 'Bucky' Barnes, a US Air Force Intelligence operative liaised with SHIELD in another reality, warmly clasped his hand, giving it a good shake before letting go. “I thought we'd been through enough for none of that formality, Steve.”

“Eh, old habits die hard,” he answered, his grin matching that of the man before him. Though James looked exactly like Bucky had during the War, there were enough minute though distinct differences in personality between the two that Steve could not mistaken one for the other.

James stepped back and allowed Daisy Johnson to step up. Unsurprisingly, instead of shaking hands, she stepped in for an embrace, saying, “Good to see you Cap.” Steve returned the friendly hug and as they both let go and stepped back, she asked, “So what squirrel did you skin to get that on your face?”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he said, “What? Is it too scraggly? I trimmed it yesterday. You should've seen the beard before then.”

“Yeah, but the beard, plus you growing your hair out... you're definitely going for that lumberjack look. I do hope you have at least one plaid shirt in your wardrobe,” she answered, smiling to show that she wasn't being literal with her words.

Steve just shook his head again, before turning slightly and gesturing with an open arm towards Natasha, saying, “James, you remember Natasha. Daisy, this is Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow of my reality. She's a former SHIELD agent and Avenger, and a member of my team.”

“Hi,” Daisy said, as Natasha gave him an indecipherable look before closing the distance.

“Agent Johnson,” Natasha greeted in a neutral, completely professional tone.

Steve could read some wariness off of Daisy as Natasha simply put a hand forward to shake the young Inhuman's hand. The gesture was returned, as politeness overrode her hesitation.

“Captain Barnes.” Natasha did the same with James, though the intelligence officer was either completely comfortable in differentiating between Natasha of this reality and of the other reality, or was extremely good at covering any sort of unease he had. Either way, Steve knew that the blond coloring and cut that Natasha had done with her hair was not helping the situation, but neither had Steve been inclined to have her change her hair color again. Black Widow may have been a HYDRA assassin in the other reality, but Natasha was a good friend and confidante in his.

“Ms. Romanov,” James answered in kind.

Her blond color and cut, along with his growth of a full beard and longer hair were their permanent disguises until they were no longer fugitives from the law. It was how they lived, and he placed Natasha, Sam, and Wanda's safety above everything else – even if people from another reality were uncomfortable. It was not his place to try to change perceptions that others had of counterparts who had fought on the other side. It was his place to ensure that his team – his friends – were safe.

“All right,” Steve said, breaking into the tension before it could fill even the cold Siberian air, gesturing for the two to follow him and Natasha back to the quinjet. “We'll head to where Sam and Wanda currently are and begin the search there. Anything you guys need to do or interface with the quinjet to get your device working?”

“Nope,” Daisy answered, nose deep into the screen of her device as they walked up the ramp.

Natasha hit the button to close the ramp, as Steve made his way into the cockpit. Because the quinjet was customized to Natasha's taste, it didn't have the usual bulkhead that separated the cockpit from the cargo hold. Instead, there were the usual pilot and co-pilot's seats, along with two seats behind that had similar interfaces as the copilot had.

Natasha's quinjet also had unusual weapons load out – more so than the usual missiles and single rotary cannon available in standard outfits. She had at least three different lockers of weaponry stored in the compartments lining the cargo hold's holds, and three rotary cannons operable by either the pilot, copilot, and the two sitting rear. Stealth and avionics systems had also been upgraded to be better than standard. The weight of every customization meant that the quinjet had forgone missiles. Thus far, Steve and his team had not had to use the rotary cannons – but then again, they were not looking for trouble with the authorities.

Slipping into the pilot's seat, he fired up the quinjet, and as soon as his board cleared green, he glanced back quickly to see that everyone else was strapped into the seats, and took off. As the abandoned silo-turned-Wakandan monitoring site slowly became smaller and smaller before it disappeared into a swirl of clouds and snow, Steve punched in the nav course for the last known location of where Sam and Wanda were.

Though he was not sure if they were still in the same area when he had dropped them off before heading here, when they got closer, they would notify the two. It ran less of a risk of interception in com systems if they announced their presence at the last minute, rather than now.

“So what's that?” Natasha asked, as Steve turned on the autopilot and spun his seat around to face the others. Natasha was gesturing to the device in Daisy's hands, whom was still nose-deep in peering at the screen.

“Something that Fitz had been working on before... well, before he turned double,” James answered.

There was nothing on James' face to suggest that what happened to Leopold Fitz in the other reality affected him, but Steve could hear the regret in the man's tone. Steve had had no words of comfort to give to James in the aftermath of Fitz's suicide at the other reality's silo, leaving only cryptic, possibly confessional words behind. He could see though, that James felt guilty for the route that Fitz had taken in life after being rescued from the attack on the Triskelion in the other reality.

Strike Bravo had been James' team – a team that had been trained under him. It's roster had included Daisy, Fitz, Bobbi Morse, and Montgomery Falsworth. Steve had seen and understood the pride that James had felt in his team; it was the same kind of feeling he had long ago, when training the new Avengers. To have Fitz do what he had done in the Framework and outside of it... Steve still had no good words for James, only sympathy.

“We... Madam Hydra actually had a contingency plan in place, should she had lost Fitz, or he was killed,” James continue, as Steve saw Daisy tighten her hands around the device for a moment before continuing to calibrate or do whatever she was doing to it to get it working.

“We found the servers in that silo after you guys left,” James continued, “It was just a few hundred feet more buried underground in the same area where the portal was. We don't know how it was done, but the eggheads' best guess was that it was similar to how Stark was created as an AI. They estimated the size and power needed for the transfer. We've destroyed all but one of the servers racks and isolated that from every other network. As soon as we got an interface working, AI Fitz pointed out the device and a few other things his predecessor had been working on. He seems sincere, but Peggy isn't taking any risks.”

“That's why I'm the only one allowed to handle the device,” Daisy stated, finally looking up from the screen, grinning. “I can shut this baby down the moment something goes funny. Right now though, it's finishing up its calibration to your world. Once that's done, we should get a good lock on where your SHIELD is.”

“So why'd you two come?” Natasha asked after acknowledging Daisy's explanation with a single nod of her head. “I mean, no offense, and I can literally see Steve vibrating with happiness like an excited puppy in seeing both of you--”

To this, Steve gave a halfhearted protest of, “Hey--” but didn't follow through with it. Natasha was right, just seeing Daisy and James again made him feel oddly lighter and happier.

“--but we told you guys over the receiver that you, Agent Johnson, are wanted by the US government for apparently attempting to assassinate General Talbot. And you, Captain Barnes... well, I'm sure you got the story from Steve. The Wakandan scientists said that the message went through to your side. Did you guys not get it?”

“We got it,” James answered, as Steve saw Daisy shrug. “Whatever we're tracking, Daisy's the best at it with her powers and skills. Me, I volunteered... and also to evaluate her for command fitness.”

“Command fitness?” Steve questioned, as he gave a quick glance over towards Daisy, who again, shrugged as it were not a big deal, before poking the screen of her device again.

“Madam Hydra's death – both of them – released a lot of people from their chip implant control,” James explained. “Once people got their bearings, they wanted answers. SHIELD... Peggy didn't want SHIELD to become like HYDRA again, so we've kept a low profile. We posted answers on message boards, newspapers op-eds, the works. People still found us though, good and bad. Our ranks are growing again, but they need training. They've got me tapped for training new recruits, and weeding out HYDRA moles in the new recruits. Daisy will be promoted to a Strike commander – if she passes.”

“You're look a little blasé about this, Agent Johnson,” Natasha pointed out as soon as James was done with his explanation.

“I don't want to be in command of a Strike Team,” Daisy answered in a rather biting tone, sparing only a rather hostile glare over towards James.

“Orders are orders, Quake,” James said, not even reacting to the look that his teammate had given him. “I can say that you're not fit to command, but Peggy and Stevie will not buy that. They, and the rest of the field agents have seen you in action.”

“Then lie better. Sir,” the young agent bit out.

Steve frowned, feeling as if he had just missed something significant in the explanation that had been given to them. However, it was Natasha's throaty chuckle that drew his attention away from the two and onto her, as she said, “You're looking for an independent field assignment, aren't you, Agent Johnson?”

“Thank you!” Daisy half-sarcastically said, dropping the device to her lap. The look in her eyes was anything but sarcastic, and was instead quite pleased that someone understood her. “I'm all for team spirit, but a change in pace would be nice once in a while. There's still a lot of HYDRA operatives out there, and none of them are expecting a lone Inhuman agent.”

“So you want us to evaluate for fail in command, but pass with a recommendation for independent field work?” Natasha asked.

“Yes, please!” Daisy answered, looking quite enthusiastic again.

“Sounds like you've had experience,” James said at the same time, smiling slightly.

The look that Natasha gave James was not what Steve would call 'coy', but neither would he call it 'arrogant'. There was a smile on her face that on second glance, matched that of James – both of them slightly unsettling, though not predatory. He had experienced the predatory smile of Natasha before, though it was thankfully with Natasha's counterpart in the other reality.

“I was Director Fury's agent,” was all Natasha stated before Steve saw her jerk a thumb towards him, saying, “He was the 'ooh-rah' team spirit guy. Wasn't happy that I had trampled over his mission to fulfill Fury's orders.”

Steve couldn't find fault in her brief, oblique mention of the mission that became the downfall of SHIELD and HYDRA. He let the jab at his military background go, knowing that it was all in good nature. “She's the best,” he stated before turning his attention onto Daisy, saying, “so if Director Carter is willing to take our recommendations, she'll be the one evaluating you.”

“Aweso--” Daisy began, but then her device emitted a rather ear-piercing wail before it fell silent. It was pitched enough that even Steve's ears rung for a few moments, before he focused his eyes onto the device. He saw the Inhuman agent give the device a shake before glancing at the screen, asking, “What's our destination, Cap?”

“Last known location of Sam and Wanda is near Los Angeles. That was where the last confirmed sighting of several of Director Coulson's team were. They may not be there, but they'll hopefully be in the area,” he stated.

“Hmm,” Daisy said, before turning the device around to show them the screen. There was nothing except a dot blinking opposite of the arrow that he thought indicated their direction. No marker indicating north, south, east, or west was on the display. “According to this, that screech means we're headed in the wrong direction.”

“You got another destination?” Steve asked, frowning slightly. He knew that Sam and Wanda could take care of themselves, but he was not keen on leaving them for more than he already had in such a populated area.

“Coordinates,” Daisy admitted, looking sheepish. “Tech guys were a little wary about taking the device apart, and AI Fitz was not really helpful in explaining how exactly it worked – only that it detected the same 'quantum particles' that was blasted across the reality link.”

“Okay, so what coordinates?” he said after a moment, spinning around to face the front again and took the autopilot off.

“Here,” she answered, shoving the device in front of him. “I'm not a trained navigator, so I'm not sure how to read out the coordinates. I can find longitude and latitude on a map though.”

“Washington DC?” he questioned after a moment, frowning slightly. It was zoomed in now, though what was on it was pretty much still incomprehensible to him, except for the coordinates hovering next to the blinking dot.

“It's going to be difficult to get in and move around without someone catching wind of us,” Natasha stated, as Steve glanced over at her, while Daisy removed the device and sat back again.

“We have to find Coulson and the others,” he insisted, returning his attention to the cockpit panels to punch in the coordinates. “We need to find out what happened to the LMDs, the Framework, and AIDA.”

“Wait, you guys went back into the Framework... this reality's has a Framework?” Daisy asked, looking a little horrified. “AIDA as well?”

“What I could get from Piper before the military picked her up and sent her to a detention center, was that yeah, there was a Framework. There was also an AI named AIDA, and several LMDs imitating almost all of Coulson's primary team, built and deployed,” Natasha explained. “Piper claimed that they destroyed them all, except for your LMD, Agent Johnson. As we said before, your LMD shot General Talbot. He was the military commander liaison with SHIELD. Piper said that Ghost Rider came back from whatever reality he had been in, to stop AIDA and your LMD, and also retrieve some book called the Darkhold. She and the other personnel were evacuated before they could see the results.”

“Apparently, Coulson and his primary team stayed behind to set the trap. We need to confirm with him that AIDA and the Framework have been destroyed,” Steve picked up from where Natasha left. “There's unconfirmed reports floating around the internet that the Framework housed something similar to what we experienced in your reality – HYDRA resurgent. With the Avengers disbanded and SHIELD barely afloat, there's not a lot of resources we can use to destroy HYDRA, if they're about to rise up from the ashes again.”

“Geez,” he heard Daisy breathe out. James was silent, but Steve didn't need to look over at him to know that there was most likely a pensive look on the man's face.

“You guys have disguises, right?” Natasha asked after a few moments of silence.

“Photo-static veils,” Daisy answered, and this time, Steve glanced back to see her take a small box out of a compartment on her waist belt. She did something with the flimsy, transparent cloth-like object before placing it over her face. The image that resolved and projected onto the veil was that of a young woman who didn't carry the Asiatic look that Daisy had, but had mostly Caucasian features.

Steve furrowed his eyebrows for a moment – the young woman's face looked familiar to him, and it was not until James performed the same actions as Daisy with his own veil that it hit him. The two facial disguises on the agents were that of acquaintances that he had met before, during the war. He had seen the two mainly around the SSR Headquarters; the young woman mostly wherever Peggy was, and the young man wherever Howard was.

“You know them, Steve?” Natasha's question catapulted him out of his reminiscence.

“Yeah,” he answered, as he saw James raise an eyebrow of his disguised face in surprise. “Daisy's image is that of Emily Hattersfield, one of Peggy's code breakers. James is wearing David Brewster's face. He was one of Howard's engineers.”

“Carter suggested that we pluck the faces from images of her time during our reality's World War Two. She considered the time passed in your reality to be safe enough to use the images. We can try to find new images to upload onto the veils if they're making you uncomfortable, Steve,” James offered.

Steve shook his head negative, ignoring the indecipherable look that Natasha was giving him. “It's all right,” he said. “No one this day and age would recognize them unless they've lived through that time anyways. Peg—Director Carter has good intuition.”

Seeing that the matter was settled, Steve then turned his attention towards Natasha, saying, “Patch a secured line to Sam, we're going to need to tell him the news.”

“On it,” she said, as her hands flew over her portion of the cockpit console.

It took a few minutes to ensure establish a com line that was as secured as they could make it. In that time, Steve quickly perused the radio chatter, listening in for any sort of hint about any patrols from their current position to the DC airspace. While they would be able to easily dodge whatever the US military had, unless clustered to more than a squadron, it was mostly for sightings of the Iron Man suit that he listened for.

It was rare that Tony flew around in the Iron Man suit nowadays, as the last PR for Stark Industries had indicated that Tony was putting all of his effort into establishing scientific and engineering relations with Wakanda. Steve knew that T'Challa honored the agreement made, and would never reveal that Bucky was in cryo within Wakandan borders, but the PR had mostly alluded to Tony spending time on the West Coast at the Wakandan Science Outreach center in Oakland.

“Falcon, this is Home Base,” Natasha stated into her headset, alerting Steve to the fact that a line had finally been established.

“Falcon copies,” the extremely tinny, but still identifiable voice of Sam came through, as Natasha hit the button to change the feed from headset into speaker.

“Hey Sam, is Wanda anywhere near you?” Steve asked, keying the microphone.

“Yeah, sure, want it on speaker?” Sam answered. “Don't worry, there's absolutely no one anywhere near us for at least three miles.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“All right, hold on,” his friend said.

A few moments later, the equally tinny, but distinctly different voice of Wanda came over the line, saying, “Hey. Do we happen to have enough in our budget to let Sam and I check into at least a Motel 6? I could definitely use the shower.”

“Pasadena, near JPL, on the edge of the disc golf course,” Natasha stated. “There's an old cache there. It's almost depleted, but there should be enough left for the two of you to find some place to lay low for a few days.”

“Something come up, Steve?” Sam asked, his tone indicating that he was on guard and alert.

“Couple of travelers from that other reality I was telling to you about,” Steve explained. “We're headed to DC to follow on a lead.”

“Uh... Steve... DC is _not_ a good place for either of you to go.”

“I know,” he answered, “but they have a device that may be pointing us in the right direction. It's worth the risk.”

Silence answered him, but he expected it. Sam was cautious about going anywhere near a heavily populated locale, including non-American cities. It had taken some convincing to get him to even go to Los Angeles. Though considering the hell he, along with Sam and Natasha had gone through with the fall of SHIELD and exposure of HYDRA, finding Coulson and his team was worth even their own potential arrests. Coulson was the only one who had more resources to send out against any potential HYDRA threat than Steve or his team.

“We'll plan for a contingency in breaking you and Natasha out of prison,” Wanda surprisingly spoke up after a few moments.

“Wanda--” Steve began, annoyed, frustrated, yet oddly touched by her declaration.

“No, Steve, she's right,” Sam cut in, sounding thoroughly annoyed. “Shut up and don't get caught in DC. If you do, we'll get both of you out, no matter what it takes.”

“All right,” he said after a long moment, as he couldn't help the upwards quirk of the edges of his lips. He knew that Sam had plenty more that he wanted to say, but would not state it through an open com channel. “Keep searching for any sign of Coulson, and if you can, find Piper and see if she has any more information.”

“Will do, Steve,” his friend crisply answered. In a more casual tone, he said, “Pick up some of that shwarma thing that both of you keep raving about?”

“Yeah, sure,” Natasha answered, smiling. “Good hunting.”

“Good hunting to you guys as well,” came the answer before the line was disconnected.

* * *

_Later..._

 

“Treating this as a vacation from your day job, Captain Barnes?” Natasha said, deciding to open the approach with a cursory observation of the most curious of a man to sit in her quinjet's cargo hold.

It wasn't that she didn't know James Buchanan Barnes was – she really didn't other than what the dumped files, her own hazy memories of the past, and of the brief times she fought against this reality's Barnes, told her. She had absolutely no idea who or what made this other Barnes tick. Sure Steve's briefing and explanation provided her some context, but she knew that Steve was biased whenever it came to Barnes. It also seemed that her friend's bias extended to both this reality's Barnes and this man seemingly lounging across a couple of jump seats in her cargo hold.

The Winter Soldier was one she knew by reputation, hazy memories, and combat experience. Steve's Barnes was only through brief glimpses during the hunt for him and by Steve's stories about Barnes that had been told to her. Both pointed to someone that she strangely found kinship and a sense of camaraderie with, even though she had barely even met or gotten to know the man.

Captain Barnes though, by Steve's account and her own observations while briefly in the other reality, was an excellent operative and a competent leader. Yet, considering what she knew of the other reality, she wondered why such a needed operative was here. The excuse that Barnes had given earlier about evaluating Johnson was adequate, but she could sense that he was holding something back. The other reality's SHIELD could have easily sent someone else to accompany Agent Johnson – in fact, if their Director Carter was anything like the same woman here, Carter would have. Natasha didn't think that Carter would have even acquiesced to a request from Barnes to travel to this reality for such a relatively minor matter.

As she stopped a couple steps away from Barnes, she saw him open his eyes, a casual smile on his face in response to her words. While she normally would have taken a seat opposite to begin casual observations and evaluations of someone she didn't know at all, she was curious to see how Barnes would react to her. It didn't take a genius to listen between the lines when Steve had told her and the others what generally happened in the other reality's Framework.

“Building a profile on me, Ms. Romanov?” Barnes casually asked, not moving even a millimeter from where he was sitting as she took a seat directly on his left.

“You could say that,” she answered, noticing that his left arm did not twitch at all.

Had it been the Winter Soldier she just sat next to, she was quite confident she would have heard the minutest of the whir of gears and other things within the arm spooling up. Last she had seen Steve's Barnes gave her the impression that the man reacted to everything like a coiled cat. The lack of a reaction from this other reality's Barnes was telling, and it confirmed the implications that she had presumed had happened within the Framework. This James Barnes had been in a physical relationship with her counterpart within the Framework.

“Agent Johnson was clearly uncomfortable with my presence, so I decided to remove myself,” she stated, deciding to be straight forward.

Either Barnes was excellent at differentiating between her and her HYDRA-serving counterpart, or he expected her to be the same as her counterpart – minus the HYDRA mentality. Natasha had to put her money on the latter, rather than the former – given that Steve had admitted that it had been slightly difficult for him to stop reacting to Barnes as if the other man had grown up with Steve.

Steve seemed to have grown out of that mentality though, as Natasha remembered seeing a myriad of emotions flit across her friend's face whenever interacting with the recovering Winter Soldier. Here and in the now, Steve seemed to hold the other reality Barnes at a distance – friendly still, but a slight distance.

“I know what you're doing, Ms. Romanov,” Barnes said, giving her a slightly arrogant smirk that oddly irritated her slightly. It disappeared just as quickly as it appeared as he continued to say, “I would be doing the same in your shoes.”

“Would be?” she questioned, though it was not really one, as she stated it as fact. “You're doing it right now.”

“Touche,” he answered. Giving her a single nod, he said, “I can tell the differences, if you're worried. I know you're not HYDRA, and I didn't need Steve's defense of you all those months ago to see that.”

“And you're clearly what the Winter Soldier could have been, had he not become what he is today,” she said.

The cheerful, casual disposition that he openly wore disappeared instantly with her words. She knew then that she had touched a nerve. Just his reaction told her so much: how and why Steve found it initially difficult to not be drawn to Barnes, and how both Barnes boys reacted to each other. She had warned Steve not to pluck at the strings within the file she had received from her contacts in Kiev, but she had handed over that file knowing that Steve would have refused to leave the matter alone.

Steve had been a stranger in a strange world when he woke up from ice; desperately trying to stay afloat and not drown. Natasha was aware that even as elderly as she was, Margaret 'Peggy' Carter had been a steadfast anchor as had Barnes been during World War Two. However, with Barnes transformed into the Winter Soldier, he was now anything but an anchor. It had been and still was difficult for Steve to adjust to his life without his anchors. The consequences were something that she, Natasha, and Sam dealt with every day – and it had gotten worse now that they were fugitives from the law.

“Has Steve tried to contact Wakanda for any updates?” Barnes asked, recovering quickly, as his casual, laid back attitude reappeared on his face like a mask. “It's been a few months, and considering the tech I saw your reality's King T'Challa display with that bead of fire...”

“No,” she answered, deciding to be honest. It was quite clear to her in the few minutes that passed in her close observation that perhaps Barnes had just used the excuse of both the quantum oddity and Johnson's evaluation to come here. “But you can ask him the details yourself, you know.”

“I can,” he answered, “but he'll give me a bullshit excuse that will probably make me feel guilty. Then there will be some strong words, maybe some yelling, and then both of us will feel even worse for doing that to each other.”

“Ah,” she said after a moment, the edges of her lips quirking up in a slightly amused smile. “I always thought alternate realities always came with completely different personalities for the same occupants. But it seems that your Stephanie Rogers—am I right?”

Barnes nodded and Natasha continued, “Your Stephanie Rogers is exactly the same personality-wise as Steven Rogers here.”

“The only difference is biological, but yeah, that doesn't even factor into their personalities,” Barnes answered.

“Hmmm,” she said, nodding once. “So you're here mainly because you want to see how Steve is doing?”

He shook his head, saying, “That's an elementary assessment, Ms. Romanov. Why don't you just come right out and say it?”

“Why are you so curious about what my own analysis about you and your purpose here, Captain Barnes?” she asked instead.

“I like you, and I want to get to know you better,” he bluntly stated.

She couldn't help but chuckle, finding the verbal sparring interesting and entertaining at the same time. “You know, for all that Steve's said about both you and Sergeant Barnes's abilities to charm women with words and looks, that was by far, a terrible pickup line.”

“I'm a little rusty,” he said in a defensive tone.

“No you're not,” she countered. “You just made it clear to me that you are unwilling to emotionally hurt Stephanie Rogers again, even though you've clearly taken an interest in me because I look like your Framework's version of myself.”

“If that was spoken by any other woman, I'd say that she was full of herself,” he said, finally shifting to sit up in a less casual fashion. “But you're right. I like you, but I made a promise to Stevie – to be with her until the end of the line. I'm not going to break that promise again.”

“And yet, here you are, taking an interest in Steve.”

“Jealous?” he asked, that arrogant smirk back on his face.

Were she any other person, she knew that that was designed to completely irritate and fluster someone who didn't understand the double-speak that Barnes employed. She had to admit – he was good at what he did – deflecting, twisting words, and playing with people's perceptions and assumptions. But she was not fooled at all by what he was doing. First, she herself had been trained by both the KGB and SHIELD to see through such things, and do the same things as he did. Secondly, she knew the subject matter they discussed within their sparring – Steve.

There were times in which Sam jokingly called her the 'work wife' of Steve, and Steve her 'work husband'. It was true in a sense, but that was not how she or Steve saw their friendship or relationship. If she had to put a better label on how she saw Steve and how Steve viewed her, they would have to be brother and sister. The irony was not lost on her for thinking along that vein, since both of them had no siblings while growing up.

She also knew that Steve had been the most generous, open-hearted person within the Avengers. Even the old-fashioned sensibility that he carried endeared him towards more than a few people at SHIELD. Apart from the argument against Stark on the Helicarrier that had been influenced by Loki's scepter, he never judged people for what they had done, and always kept an open mind and heart. Steve wore his feelings on the sleeve, and Natasha had seen just how the years of coping with the abrupt end of the war for him, along with the displacement in time had done to him. It had slowly made him more insular, and dare she say it: a little more selfish and less generous.

Sure Steve had friends in his life – close ones that she knew included her, Sam, and Wanda, along with Clint. But loved ones were incredibly sparse. She could count on one hand just how many people Steve truly loved. What kind of meaning that 'love' indicated was quite debatable, in her opinion – and it didn't help that Steve never stated his preference to her. She had just gone with the assumption of at least trying to encourage Steve to reach out and begin to live in his new world, when she had started suggesting various women in different SHIELD departments for him to go out with.

“Hardly,” she answered in a blasé tone that dripped with sarcasm. “Word of advice though: I don't think Steve's ready for polygamy. He certainly wasn't ready to ask out a girl with a lip piercing. Plus I don't know if he's truly likes Sharon, since he hasn't contacted her after what happened at the Berlin Airport. He also has this thing with his best friend from the war, whom we all thought was dead. Don't even get me started on whatever went on between him and Stark... it's pretty complicated.”

She saw him shake his head, an amused smile replacing the smirk. “I'm here because someone's got to make sure that counterparts of mine do not break promises made,” he sincerely stated. “Or make the same mistakes that I've made.”

“Well then,” she said, deciding that she was able to extend a small sliver of trust towards the man, “the answer to your question is still 'no'. Steve doesn't want to run the risk of our com lines being intercepted by anyone, so he hasn't contacted Wakanda at all. Given what little I know and understand what Sergeant Barnes went through, and what technology Wakanda has at their disposal, it will take time.”

She fell silent, but the silence between them didn't last long as Barnes said in a quieter, more serious tone, “I also apologize for any bad memories that may have been brought up with that.”

“I didn't go through what Sergeant Barnes or what apparently your reality's Black Widow went through,” she answered after a moment. “I do remember parts of my past, but all of the conditioning that made me who I was in the KGB was due to training. They didn't want to tamper with any Black Widow's memories, since our assignments and missions tended to be cyclical. At that time, we needed to remember what we had done to a previous target, if we were ever deployed to the target again.”

“Sergeant Barnes told us as much, with the title being inherited and all,” Captain Barnes answered. “I presume that Steve at least filled you in on what transpired in my reality?”

“Some,” she said, nodding. “Not all, but enough for me to understand that SHIELD in both realities really shouldn't leave their 0-8-4's out in the open. Even under lock and key, someone's eventually going to get to it.”

Barnes barked in laughter, loud enough to catch the attention of Steve and Agent Johnson, both of whom were sitting in the cockpit. Before either could inquire what was the cause of the laughter, the proximity to destination chime rung across the interior of the quinjet. “Guess that's our cue to strap in and get ready,” Natasha heard him say, as she turned to see Steve strapping himself into the pilot's seat before calling up several displays on the HUD.

“Guess so,” she agreed.

~~~

The Washington skyline was something that Steve always found comforting, familiar, and calming – even at night. It wasn't as chaotic as New York, with all of its skyscrapers and transformed buildings from the 1940's. As the HUD highlighted all the small pinpoint dots, marking where airplanes were either landing, taking off, or in a holding pattern, he eased on the throttle and began to descend. The cloaking module was active, but he didn't want to rush by and disturb the air in the path of any of the airplanes or tourist helicopters.

“Can you get me refined coordinates other than the city, Daisy?” he asked, as Natasha briefly placed a hand on Daisy's shoulder to keep her from giving up the co-pilot's seat. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her slip into the seat behind Daisy, while James took up the fourth and final seat. He didn't know what Natasha and James had been discussing, but they had looked at ease with each other, and thus he left it alone.

“Give me a few seconds,” she answered, as he saw her frown and poke at the screen. That frown turned into a more mild look as she spoke up, saying, “Looks like the coordinates are pointing to somewhere in the southwest waterfront.” She showed him the screen again, saying, “That building right here.”

“All right,” he said, keeping the unease he was feeling from bubbling up. It was not from the fact that they were in extremely dangerous territory at the moment, but more of the fact that it was near where the Triskelion used to be. That and the Navy Yard was next door, and the Pentagon right across the river. There could not have been a worse place for the device to lead them to, but it was as he said before: finding Coulson and his team was a larger priority than his or Natasha's own safety.

“Prelim scans show that it's your standard office building,” Natasha said, switching seats with Daisy before pulling up several schematics. “Used to be owned by Roxxon Corporation up until the mid-80's before Hammer Tech moved in. Some environmental lobbyist corporation now owns and operates from it.”

“We'll land on the rooftop,” he ordered. “Get your masks on, Daisy and James. Secure channel thirteen, Nat. We'll be using the usual call signs over com – James, you get the Nomad call sign. We're going lightly armed – I do not want to cause a shootout and attract any unwanted guests.”

“Copy,” both Daisy and James answered in a crisp tone.

“Channel thirteen, copy,” Natasha answered after a moment as she reached over Daisy, and began fiddling with the various cockpit dials and switches to secure a com line.

As Steve concentrated on maneuvering and landing the quinjet on the building that Daisy's device had indicated, he only reached over to pluck the offered com piece after Natasha extended her hand to him. While he was glad that it was night time, he was also worried. With this much advanced tech in the area, especially with regards to surveillance, it was still going to be difficult to canvas the building. He was also additionally glad that snow had not begun to fall yet, even though it was quite cold. Snowfall on a cloaked quinjet would essentially render the cloaking mechanism useless.

As soon as they touched down, he ran through the post flight checks quickly as the others unstrapped themselves from the jump seats and made their way to the armory to pick up the light firearms. Steve joined them, as he saw Natasha forgo the pair of pistols she usually carried and opted for slotting several electrical discs into her gauntlets and two eskrima batons. Daisy and James both picked up one 9-mil each, taking his order to be lightly armed seriously. He'd rather they run and escape, than entrench themselves and try to fight anything out.

He picked up a small cylindrical object that was the width of a bou, but the length of his palm. It was a bou, but telescopic and built quite strongly. He remembered Natasha saying that it had been one of the last experimental weapons she had picked up before SHIELD had collapsed. The only experimental portion of the bou was that it was collapsible and easily hidden on his person. He had already used it once before a few weeks ago, and after inspection, there seemed to be no damage to its integrity.

“I have point,” he quietly stated, Natasha stepped over and hit the button to lower the ramp. As he crouched at the lip for a moment, listening carefully for any odd noise, all he heard was the sounds of the DC traffic.

Daisy followed him as he made his way across the rooftop, followed by Natasha. James took up the rear, but Steve clamped down on the brief moment of nostalgia that rose within him. James's action was the same thing Bucky had taken before whenever the Howling Commandos traversed into dangerous territory. While normal units would have placed a sniper on a perch as the rest of them swept and cleared ground level, Bucky always insisted on sweeping with them – always taking the rear position. Steve didn't know how he saw them, but there were times in which Bucky sniped from the ground and into the trees, felling ambushers a few hundred yards ahead.

“Anything, Quake?” he quietly asked Daisy as the four of them pressed themselves against the brick wall perpendicular to the lone door on this rooftop.

“Nothing,” Daisy answered. “The device is still giving me the same coordinates.”

“All right,” he said, keeping the sigh of frustration he wanted to let loose to himself. It was definitely not ideal, but it was the only way for them to canvas the building quickly. “Standard office building, one central stairwell, and most likely four main ones on the corners leading to the ground. Widow, take north. Nomad, you're east. Quake, west. Call out anything unusual such as security cameras where there aren't supposed to be.”

“Copy,” the others acknowledged. Entering the building, the four of them quickly and quietly made their way down to the top floor and began their mission.

Steve kept a tight grip on the collapsed bou as he quietly but quickly made his way down this particular set of halls. It was opulent in taste, catering to the head of whatever organization operating from here. Fortunately, none of the windows showing the offices were tinted too much. Most of the blinds on the windows were pulled down, but the always-on emergency lights at either end of the hall gave him enough of a light source to scan the area. Nothing jumped out at him, and he made his way down to the next floor.

It was only on the fifth floor from the rooftop, while traversing through a cubicle farm that he heard James whisper into the com, saying, “You said that this building was owned and operated by some environmental lobbyist, right, Widow?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Why would a lobbyist group need something like this massive door?”

“Position, Nomad,” Steve immediately ordered.

“Sixth floor from the rooftop, east-sou-east. This entire thing takes up almost half of the quadrant,” James answered.

“I'm on the same floor as you, and the device is localizing in your direction, sir,” Daisy confirmed.

“That might be our smoking gun then,” he stated. “Everyone, hold sweep and make your way to Nomad's position.”

Acknowledgments rang across the com line as Steve finished up his portion of the sweep of the fifth floor and made his way down. Hooking the collapsed bou against his waist belt, he jogged the rest of the way and found that the others were already gathered near the area where there was a console. James was not kidding when he had stated that the massive door-like structure took up nearly half of this area of the floor. Daisy was already sitting at the computer, gloves still over her fingers, while Natasha was peering at the device that was set on the table next to her, but was not touching it.

“Before you say anything, Cap, no, I don't have the door hacked yet. It's not like the movies where I type a few commands and bam!” Daisy immediately stated, as Steve brushed by James who was poking random places on the safe with the barrel of his 9-mil.

While he usually would have stated something about gun safety to any other operative doing the same thing as James was doing, he didn't. James knew how to handle firearms, and knew better than to leave fingerprints on the safe wall, or whatever this thing was. Going over and stopping next to Daisy, Steve saw her continue to type things into a window on the screen.

It was Natasha who suddenly stepped forward, reached across and over Daisy, and plucked a sticky note from the underside of another keyboard. “Huh,” was all she said, as she handed Daisy the sticky note.

“Crappy ops sec,” was all Daisy answered in kind before standing up and took the device with her.

Steve only had a momentary glance at the sticky note, but he had to agree with Daisy on her blunt assessment. The digits written on the sticky note were long faded, but they were still visible. And the code that was on it proved to be the necessary digits needed to input into the lone keypad plastered against the metal wall.

With a beeping confirmation of the correct digits input, the safe or containment unit hissed open, as the four of them withdrew their weapons and slowly stepped over the threshold. Inside was just a long corridor of metal, though in the center of it was a rock-like object. Steve wondered if Coulson and his team had been shrunk to the size of Ant Man and were stuck on the rock, or perhaps were hiding in a pocket reality within this containment unit.

“Aw shit,” Natasha swore, “It's a 0-8-4--”

* * *

_Era: Cold War_

_Location: Classified_

_Status: Reconnaissance of target area_

 

Explosions never caused him to flinch, as he always moved out of the way before it could do any harm to himself. However, this particular noise that sounded like an explosion, was much larger and powerful than he expected. He felt the rooftop of the building he was currently perched upon rattle. Drawing his eyes away from the binoculars and shifted slightly to look back towards where the noise had come from.

In the dark, it was extremely difficult to see the smoke billowing out, but the building a few blocks from his current perch had the entirety of one of its floors blown out. The mission briefing had stated that Roxxon Corporation owned that particular building. Yet, it was an administrative building, not one that housed any engineering or science experiments. He didn't care for what had caused such a massive explosion, but he did care about the fact that this particular perch and at least two blocks up and down were now completely useless. Federal agents would be swarming this area within the hour – and the sirens of the fire department were already beginning to wail.

Stowing the binoculars back into briefcase, he snapped it shut and slung the makeshift strap on it across his back. While he would have gotten rid of the briefcase as soon as he could, in this particular city, he didn't. Most people were expected to walk around with briefcases, not duffel bags. If he needed a different extraction route than the primary one, then he needed the briefcase to blend in.

Glancing back every so often towards where the explosion had taken place, he could hear the sirens getting louder as he took off at the run and leapt to the rooftop north of where he had been. It was only after he was half-way across this particular rooftop that he thought he saw movement on the Roxxon building. While he normally would have not stopped for such a thing, he was rather irritated at the fact that the explosion had happened. He wanted to take note of who exactly had destroyed the most viable perch he had reconnoitered.

Pausing, he drew the binoculars out again and peered through them. He could make out four people, two of them male, judging from the broad shoulders and the way they carried themselves. The other two were female—he frowned. He didn't peel the binoculars from his eyes and focused solely on the female with what he could barely discern as light haired. Facial resolution was difficult with the binoculars and dim lighting, and he was not about to take out his scope and recalibrate it for this. The other three were milling about the rooftop, looking for something that should have been there, but the light-haired female—she concerned him.

No one except certain agents were supposed to know those hand signals that she was making.

While she was swearing up a storm with her hand signals, it took him a moment to realize that she was merely communicating to herself, expressing her displeasure at whatever had happened during the explosion. It seemed that the other three companions of hers didn't even notice or understand the signals – most likely mistaking them for wild hand undulations. Worst yet, it seemed that she didn't realize or could hear the sirens approaching.

That crossed the female operative off the list of the Black Widow and her potential successors. There were other operatives who knew of the hand signals, though all but one of them were female. However, the build and gait that the female operative carried upon herself did not look like the operative aliased as Katherine Rosen. He knew where that operative was, as Karpov insisted on him knowing when and where all other operations were taking place during his mission. That knowledge allowed him to incorporate any assets near by to ensure mission success for his mission.

Whomever this female operative was, she was a nuisance, not an asset. It was not in his nature to help out another operative unless he was ordered to. However, considering the criticality of his mission, if he did not get rid of this fellow operative and whatever her motley team was, his target would go to ground. There would be no meeting happening between his target and SHIELD in a few hours. It would be mission failure for him until he could hunt down the target himself, but Karpov had ordered that SHIELD be present for mission success.

SHIELD needed to witness the target assassinated in front of them, and not find the body in some back alleyway.

 _непри—_ _nuisance_ , he corrected his thoughts back to English.

Placing his binoculars down, he withdrew one of his knives in his left arm and drew the arm back. The whir of his mechanical arm rose in pitch and volume as he applied the full force and power behind his throw. The knife flew through the air and landed precisely three inches from the left foot of the operative. He briefly looked back into his binoculars to see her staring at the knife before looking up and around, trying to identify where it came from. Without binoculars, he knew that she could not see him, but she got the message.

Lowering his binoculars again and stowing them, the Winter Soldier continued on his way, his irritation slowly bleeding back into cold ocean of calm drawn from a contingency plan being enacted.

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 22 Oct 2018 - Technically, this is Book 3 of 5 of the series, but it can be considered a direct sequel to Captain America: A Million Shards Falling.
> 
> Updates to this fic will be somewhat slow, due to real-life happenings, but I think this fic will be shorter than CA:AMSF.


	2. Papers, Please

 

**Chapter 2: Papers, Please**

 

“ _So that's it, huh? Steve said, though he couldn't help but wince slightly at just how harsh of a tone it came out as. Still, what was done was done, as he saw Bucky stiffen and stop walking away from him and towards the open door of their apartment._

_Glancing down and to the side, he immediately felt a flood of regret fill him, but continued to clench his jaw and fists. He could hear Bucky's footsteps clicking on the floor, returning to where he was standing. He wanted to take back those words – his best friend did not deserve his frustration at not being able to enlist. That was his problem alone, even though Bucky had voiced countless of times for him to stop attempting to falsify where he was from on the enlistment form._

_The sack that Bucky was carrying dropped to the ground in a dull thud. Still, Steve did not lift his eyes up, knowing that whatever his best friend was going to say, he definitely deserved the anger behind the words. He knew that he had been sulky, irritable, and downright poor company in the last few days leading up to this particular day. He knew that his attitude had driven Bucky to stay out of their apartment a few times during the hours they would normally would be sharing a meal, or just having fun._

_What he didn't expect was to be engulfed in an envelope of warmth; Bucky's strong arms wrapped around his back and head, pressing his body firmly against Bucky's own._

“ _Take care of yourself Steve,” Bucky said with absolutely no hint of anger in his tone. Instead, Steve thought he heard something else mixed in with the warmth and fondness – some underlying current of... regret?_

“ _Yeah,” he said, even though his own answer was muffled as he turned his head slightly so that Bucky could hear his words. “I will. Let me know how Army training is going, if you can. Sorry I was an asshole these past few days.”_

“ _You weren't an asshole, punk,” Bucky answered, as Steve felt his hair being affectionately mussed._

“ _Jerk,” he immediately said, but there was none of the earlier harshness to his retort._

“ _I'll be back from training in a few months, Steve--”_

“Steve!”

Steve felt the stinging sharpness of someone slapping his face before the searing heat, whooping noise of alarms, and acrid smoke filled his senses. Snapping his eyes open was the worst thing he could do at the moment, as they immediately and involuntarily filled with tears. However, he could still see somewhat within the thick amount of choking smoke that surrounded him, and saw the blurred figure of James crouched above him extending a hand out to help him up. Grasping the man's hand he rose up, coughing.

“Everyone all right?” he asked, his ears still ringing. It was coupled with a slightly muddy sound sloshed around, but that was fading into normal. He looked around, seeing that what had been the four walls of the safe or containment unit was nothing but destroyed, peeling tin. Sprinklers that were supposed to go off didn't, and waving his hands around did nothing to alleviate the thick smoke.

“Yeah,” he heard Daisy faintly answer while Natasha's hand landed ever so briefly on his left forearm, silently indicating that she too was all right. James had echoed Daisy's affirmative, at the same time the Inhuman agent said, “I think I can clear the air a little and get us to the nearest stairwell.”

“Do it,” he ordered, nodding, even though it made him slightly dizzy for a moment.

With Daisy leading the way and the air before her vibrating ever so slightly to lessen the smoke, but controlled enough so that she wasn't shaking down the entire building, they hurried out and up the outer stairwells until they got to the top floor. Sprinklers systems were not working on this floor either, but as Steve follow the three in front of him, he couldn't help but frown slightly. He had passed through this area previously, it looked quite opulent and had vast office suites. What they ran through at the moment to get to the central stairwell had none of that – it was all shiny black walls.

He didn't linger on it as the four of them climbed the central stairwell and emerged out into the cold air. Both Daisy and James were coughing quite a bit, trying to clear their throats and chest of the smoke they had inhaled. Steve's own coughs had dissipated the moment they had cleared the floor where the explosion had happened. Natasha didn't seemed to be as affected by the smoke either, but he knew that she never showed any sort of weakness whenever operations were carried out.

“Shit!” Daisy was the first to alert them to just how empty the rooftop was. “Where –is –our –ride?” she asked in between coughs.

Steve immediately headed over towards where he had last taken a visual assessment of the quinjet, thinking that perhaps he had activated the secondary cloaking mechanism instead of the primary one. Worry began to line his stomach as he ran into and through the area where he should have hit the fuselage of the quinjet. Stopping, he looked around, narrowing his eyes slightly as he tried to peer into the darkness and see if there was any sign on the rooftop of someone stealing their quinjet.

James and Daisy did the same, though they were still trying to control their coughs as walked a few feet this way and that, trying to find any sign. Worry began to turn into dread as Steve walked through the entire area of where he had parked the quinjet and found nothing. However, sudden rapid footsteps running towards him alerted him to trouble.

“We got to go, peoples!” he heard Natasha immediately order as she snatched him by the sleeve of his outfit and flung him forward a few steps. “We got feds and emergency services coming!”

“Dammit!” James swore.

Steve didn't need to be told twice as he tore after Natasha. He was careful not to overtake her, as he could read from her body language that she knew where to go. There was also something in her hand, but that was for later discussion – now was the time to leave and find some place to hide before the authorities could get to them.

James and Daisy were hot on their heels, and as the four of them ran to the north rooftop edge, Natasha sped up. At nearly the same time, the four of them leapt into the darkness, across the small chasm that separated this building and the next. Steve heard the hollow ringing noise of Daisy unleashing a burst of her power to help all of them across, though the landing on the next rooftop was quite jarring. Even the tucked forward roll that he had done with his momentum, did little to cushion the impact.

They continued to run, jump, land and roll, from rooftop to rooftop. He didn't know where Natasha was taking them, but he had to trust that it was somewhere safe. It was only after seven building leaps that Natasha finally slowed down enough to sling herself over the side of the building they had landed on.

She slid down the fire escape ladder to the first grating, and just as Steve was about to follow her, she aimed her right gauntlet at a door and fired a burst of her Widow's Bite weapon. A small amount of blue electric arcs played over the handle before dissipating. She yanked the door open and entered, gesturing for the three of them to follow her.

They did so, and as Natasha yanked on a string to turn on the first light bulb in whatever this safe house was, it flickered weakly on. Judging by the shadows cast by the weak lights as she continued further in, it looked like the entire floor was one room. There were rows of squat cabinets lined against the immediate wall to his right, what looked like a functional kitchenette on the left, a sofa or bed-like shape somewhere further in the room, along with other knickknacks that he couldn't quite identify due to the poor lighting.

“Don't touch anything,” she said, as Steve briefly stopped and peered at the books on the tall shelves that acted as a separator between the two areas of the single, studio-like apartment floor. The entire place had windows, but it seemed that someone had nailed some facade to the windows, most likely projecting some false image that wouldn't be scrutinized too closely.

“Where are we?” he asked, as he followed her in further, stepping where she was stepping. Daisy followed behind him, while James had taken up the rear, closing the door after them. The two had removed their photo-static veils and stowed them.

“One of the many safe houses for Soviet operatives that was set up during World War Two,” Natasha answered.

“How the hell were they able to smuggle so much in without setting off any of the authorities?” Daisy asked, as Steve glanced back to see that she had stopped following and was standing still, looking around in awe. “This looks very luxurious for a safe house.”

Steve had to give credit where it was due – Daisy was right. As the lights continued to be turned on by Natasha, the area looked quite simplistically beautiful. Polished furniture reflecting simplicity yet sensibility lined the room. There was an older, larger TV in the center of the area deemed the 'living room', unlike the modern ones that he knew, but then again, he liked the older television boxes – they were not as harsh on his eyes as plasma TVs. In the far corner from where they had entered was the bed room, sectioned off by another corridor of book-filled wooden bookshelves.

“Bribe or kill the right people,” Natasha simply answered. “The Soviet Union was a pseudo-ally of the US back in World War Two in our reality. Enough people who looked and acted as expected of them were passing from either country to also allow such a thing to exist. My guess is they were not in yours?”

“Not really,” Daisy answered. “They declared themselves neutral and only fended off anyone who tried to invade their borders during the war.”

“So can we use any of this stuff?” Steve asked, peering over at what looked like to be a small radio resting on top of a gunmetal green and squat cabinet in the 'living room'. It looked like a radio, but considering what he had read up about advancements in technology that passed while he had been on ice, he suspected that it may not be.

“Wow, this is either a cattle prod, or an industrial-grade taser--” Daisy began from where she was standing and examining a pole-like object hanging off of the refrigerator, which looked a little older than the stainless steel ones he saw almost everywhere.

“What the hell were you carrying while we were running, Romanov?” James suddenly demanded in a quiet, hard and controlled tone.

“A knife,” Natasha simply answered, turning around from her turning on the lights. She approached them, and Steve saw her reach down into left boot and withdraw the blade. Rather than going over and giving it to James to examine, she instead, threw it into the center, right below one of the lit and hanging light bulbs. The knife landed right between the slats of a wooden coffee table.

“Whose knife is it?” James continued to question, as he saw him fold his arms across his chest, his expression unreadable. There was a keenness in the man's eyes that unsettled Steve though, and it seemed to be amplified by the shadows playing across his face.

“A HYDRA operative whose mission we nearly interrupted and caused to fail--” Natasha began.

“Good,” Daisy interjected, just as Steve saw Natasha flick her eyes towards him.

“--and told us to get the hell out of his way,” she continued, as if Daisy's interruption had not even happened. Steve saw her pause for a moment, uncharacteristically rubbing her arms before she stood again in as relaxed of a fashion as possible. Who it was supposed to fool, he didn't know, as he knew that all of them could read through the stance to see that something about the knife and whomever had thrown it, worried her.

“That 0-8-4 sent us back in time,” she declared. “Specifically to November 21st, 1984. It was the day I became the Black Widow. It was also my first mission that I caught a glimpse of the Winter Soldier. That knife--” she nodded towards the knife still stuck on the ground “--that was thrown by him. He's here in DC on a mission. Wherever he had thrown this knife from, we're lucky we weren't hunted down, or followed by him for interfering.”

* * *

The telephone rang loudly enough to rouse Peggy from the odd dream she was having. Blinking awake, she reached out from under the covers and turned on the light on the night stand. Picking up the phone, she brought it to her ear, hoping that she did not sound as groggy as she felt, saying, “Carter.”

“This is Agent Brandt. Sorry for disturbing you, ma'am, but there's been an explosion at the Roxxon building.”

“An explosion?” she questioned, sitting up on the bed, wide awake. Quickly gathering her robe draped on the end of the bed as she cradled the speaker between her shoulder and cheek, she glanced back and waved her husband back to sleep. Shoving her feet into her slippers, she grabbed the phone with her left hand and readjusted her grip on the speaker with her right as she shuffled to the bathroom.

“What happened? Who's the agent-in-charge on the scene?” she asked as the cord, customized for a lot of slack and length, came with her. Flicking on the bathroom lights with an elbow, she sat on the toilet seat cover as she placed the phone on the counter top and closed the door.

“Agent Thomason,” the agent over the phone stated. “They're still gathering details, but it looks like the entire sixth floor was caught in the explosion.”

“Get me as much details as you can, Brandt,” she stated. “I'll be at HQ in a half-hour.”

“Yes, ma'am,” the agent answered. “Shall I tell the team for today's op to stand down?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head slightly, even though she knew that Brandt could not see it. “The op needs to continue. Too much work has already been put into this, and any changes now might make the Widow go back underground. We keep the location, and keep the personnel already assigned on the op. Task Fury and his team to aid Thomason. For now, we treat Roxxon as an unrelated incident.”

“Understood, ma'am.”

No other words were exchanged as Peggy hung up the phone. Adrenaline like she had not felt for a while filled her, almost making her feel forty years younger. It didn't help that she had dreamt the strangest of dreams – Steve Rogers rarely filled her dreams anymore. It was not that she began forgetting about him, but that that was a chapter in her life that she thought she had closed herself off from. There were too many heart-aching memories from that time. It had been only after the first anniversary of V-E Day that she finally began to let go of her first love.

“Get yourself together, Peggy,” she found herself muttering out loud, and looked at her hands as she mentally banished away all thoughts of a life she no longer had, from her mind. She had to focus on the now, and not linger on a strange dream.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. First, she had to find out if there were any overt clues that the Soviets were onto the defection of the infamous Black Widow. The Roxxon explosion could be a plausible explanation for their catching on, as the building was an administrative office that was swept regularly by disguised SHIELD personnel. But the explosion could have turned out to be the work of some disgruntled employee as well – this city was full of them, even though many hid their grudges well and trudged on with their work.

Nodding to herself, she squared her shoulders and stood up, taking the phone with her as she opened the bathroom door. The operation to receive, assess, and process the defecting Black Widow would still go on. It could not change, as she knew that this was going to be the only big break that SHIELD would get to make a dent in the Soviet ranks of spies.

She was determined not to lose that advantage.

* * *

“What was the Winter Soldier's mission?”

It was James's quiet, yet sharp tone that managed to snap Steve out of his shock. He blinked, shaking his head slightly as he drew his gaze from the knife and looked over towards James. Though the man's stance was still casual-looking, he could read wariness bleeding off of him. That and the fact that James's right hand was resting on his sidearm in a not-so-casual fashion, was almost enough to send Steve back into the sea of stupor he had just surfaced from.

Every inch of James, from stance, to body language, to just the way he had stated that question screamed an absolute, no flawed mirror of Bucky. Steve _remembered_ the many times Bucky had stood the same way, questioned in the same tone, during SSR briefings. If Steve missed it, it was Bucky who made sure that every single underlying danger, or potential snag in a mission was brought to the surface during the briefing.

“What else was he usually tasked to do?” Natasha answered in a flippant fashion. Steve couldn't help but frown a little, even though he knew that Natasha used that tone whenever she was irritated.

“Specifically,” James pressed, not buying into her act. “Who, where, when, and how?”

“You forgot 'what',” Daisy muttered, causing James to glare at her. She visibly shrank back from the force of that glare, which was highly uncharacteristic of her.

Steve knew he had to intervene before things got out of hand. He had to push aside the avalanche had come crashing down on him with the mention of the Winter Soldier. He couldn't let his heart over take his mind on this, even though he could feel his heart winning. It was difficult, it was hard, but he had to try – to shove everything he felt about what Bucky had done as the Winter Soldier into a mental lock box. Never mind that he was still sorely confused as to how they had traveled back in time.

“Hey!” he said, managing to put enough authority behind his exclamation to mask torrent of hurt so that it did not seep out. “Enough.”

“I don't know,” Natasha stated after a few moments.

“Your mission,” James asked before Steve could get another word in, “where did you assassinate your predecessor?”

“James!” he said, putting a slight edge into his tone.

He was becoming annoyed at the man, seeing similarities in his tactics in questioning Natasha as he had questioned Bucky all those months ago when the two of them had been stuck in the other reality. This questioning, near borderline verbal bullying that James had and was now engaging in, was the one thing that had negatively stood out to Steve. It was also how he was finally able to fully differentiate between the other reality's James Barnes, and this reality's James Barnes. The Bucky he knew never needlessly questioned anyone to the point that they were uncomfortable—

“No, Steve, he's right,” Natasha spoke up, surprising him as Steve glanced over at her. He saw her give James a mirthless smile, tilting her head slightly while saying, “Gordon Park. It doesn't exist in modern times anymore, but it did then... now. It's located near the Triskelion.”

“So we avoid that area, and we don't mess up both of our futures?” Daisy asked.

“Were it as simple as that,” Natasha muttered, sighing before taking a couple of steps forward and picking up the knife from the table. She flipped it casually in her hand for a moment before saying, “I assassinated my predecessor not only because I was ordered to, but also because she had defected.”

“Wait,” Steve said, frowning slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest before raising his left arm to tap his chin with his fingers. He was reminded of something that Bucky had mentioned during the time the two of them were stuck in the other reality. “Bucky said that you were the only Black Widow who successfully defected.”

“Successfully,” she repeated. “The KGB, already rebranded as FSB when I left chased me, but SHIELD learned their lesson from what happened to my predecessor. I didn't know it back then, but it seemed after the Berlin Wall fell down, HYDRA most likely pulled all of their support within the former Soviet Union. They probably left only a skeleton crew or something – all of whom had no knowledge of the previous programs developed and used.” The sardonic smile that she gave him contained the familiar know-it-all arrogance he was used to seeing from her, as she said, “It's not difficult to run from agents who have no teeth.”

“So what's the complex part of the avoidance, Romanov?” James asked.

“I didn't quietly assassinate my predecessor, if that's what you're asking, Captain,” she answered. “It was high profile. My handlers wanted it to be that way, and I delivered. The whole city was on lock down for a few days. We're standing in the same safe house that my younger self took shelter.”

“Shit, shouldn't we move somewhere else?” Daisy asked. “I mean, if it's happening...happened today...”

“Still hasn't happened, but we will,” Natasha answered, nodding.

“But,” Steve began, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He knew that Natasha rarely drew things out when it concerned briefings and knowledge that the team needed. Yet he was not callous enough to know that these were most likely uncomfortable memories she was drawing upon. It had been unstated, but he had seen the regret and frustration in her eyes all those years ago when she had stated that it felt like she had traded one terrible organization – her former employers – for another when they had found out that HYDRA had been growing inside of SHIELD.

“But, like I said earlier, I only caught a glimpse of the Winter Soldier on my mission here. I don't know which safe house he used during the lock down, or if he escaped before the lock down. If we go to another, lie low there, we might just run into him.”

“And thereby ruin both of our futures when he sees us – or rather the two of you,” Daisy concluded. “I mean, we both still have our masks, but you two...”

Silence fell between the four of them. It need not be said among them that even if they managed not to run into the Winter Soldier, the fact that they were here in 1984 meant that there was a high possibility that neophyte agents, or people either he and Natasha knew or worked with later in life may be present. Steve did not need to be told that if they were discovered by acquaintances, they would invariably cause bad things to happen within their own future – possibly alter it as well.

“So that rock in the safe,” Steve spoke up, breaking the silence after a few minutes, knowing that he needed to focus at the moment.

He needed to be objective, not swim about in his own memories, wants, and longing of what could be. The temptation to throw everything to the wind and try to break the Winter Soldier conditioning on Bucky was enormous, as was the pull to go find Peggy and tell her where he was on ice. He missed them – missed both of them so much that there was a permanent ache in his heart that briefly surfaced each night before he attempted to fall asleep. Right now, in 1984, Peggy was alive and hale, while Bucky could be freed earlier and—it was selfish.

He knew that it was extremely selfish of him to think on such things. Peggy was happily married and had a life of her own. She had moved on, and in the last months of her life, he had accepted that he too should follow her example, and try to move on without her. Bucky... despite himself, he knew that had HYDRA not sent the Winter Soldier after Fury, Natasha, and him, their downfall wouldn't have happened. They would have continued to grow as a cancer did, eating away at SHIELD inside-out.

It was painful for him to admit, but he knew that couldn't change the future. All he could do at the moment was be a bystander. He hated that, and just as the thought passed through his thoughts, the knot in his chest seemed to ease slightly.

“0-8-4,” Natasha answered. “I thought it was in the Slingshot. I heard about this particular one from the many rumors that pointed to an urban legend that sent a hapless intern somewhere either into the future or past. When said intern returned, he or she was scarred for life because of what they had seen in the past or future.

“Sometimes, the story went that the intern was sent to World War Two, and got chewed out by Colonel Phillips. Sometimes the intern was sent to the future where they saw an Earth cracked and crumbled, and was being ruled by some blue alien. Seemed like it had been a story to scare personnel into not touching 0-8-4s, even if they looked benign.”

“I don't remember seeing anyone in a SHIELD uniform at the SSR headquarters, if you're asking,” Steve answered in response to the pointed look that Natasha had thrown him when she mentioned Colonel Phillips.

“So the best place to look for something similar that would bring us back would be the Triskelion?” James asked.

“Probably,” she answered. “The Slingshot wasn't 'built' until some incident in the mid to late-90's caused Fury and Coulson to propose it. It was right when I went on the run and defected, so I don't know the details behind that incident. But, what does that device of yours say, Agent Johnson?”

“Don't know yet,” Daisy answered, pulling out the device from where it had been tucked into a pouch along her waist belt. “I think it's re-calibrating itself after the trip here.” She held it up so that they could see the screen, but all Steve could see were the coordinates of where they had last been, along with three blinking dots in the center of the screen that most likely indicated it was indeed, re-calibrating. “I don't hear or feel anything wrong with the internals of the device, so I don't think it was damaged in the explosion, but... yeah...”

“Well, shit,” Steve heard James softly curse. “None of us can walk into the Triskelion, if that's where we end up going, even with static veils. Neither Daisy or I know SHIELD's protocol in this reality, and both of you are either still on the other side or on ice. Fucking snag.”

Steve glanced back at the knife in Natasha's hand for a moment as a thought occurred to him. It was not the best idea he had, but it was better than nothing. He was also not about to deny that as much as he tried to keep his selfish feelings out of it, it did influence what he was about to propose as a possible solution. “Peggy,” he stated, looking back up.

“Steve--” Natasha warned.

He held up his hands, saying, “Just... just hear me out, Nat.” She gave him a look, staring at him with eyes and mannerisms that seemed cat-like, before nodding once.

“Look,” he said, glancing over towards James and Daisy, “In this reality and at this time, Peggy is currently Director of SHIELD. I remember her telling me of the various times she's dealt with some of the stranger 0-8-4s that cropped up. None of them were a time traveling device, but there were some really strange ones. We can claim that we're all from another reality, tell her what brought us here, and ask to use the same device SHIELD has to get back.”

“You think she'll buy that story, Steve?” Natasha asked.

Steve nodded over towards James, who inclined his head slightly in agreement with the proposal. “We're going to have to run with the story from the other reality, Nat,” Steve explained. “Except that you're not a HYDRA agent. It can work, if we work on the story and make sure we're all in agreement with the facts and details.”

“Natalie Rogers,” James spoke up, with a rather amused yet somewhat sly smile on his face. “You can be Steve's sister.”

“Older,” Natasha immediately stated.

Steve sighed as Daisy barked in laughter before he nodded, acquiescing to her declaration. “Just because you're a couple of biological years older than me alias-wise, doesn't give you the right to boss an old man around.”

“No, but you're going to have to follow my lead anyways, Rogers,” she said smiling.

“True,” he said, nodding before glancing over towards James and Daisy, asking, “How long are your static-veil charges supposed to last?”

“Their shelf life is a few weeks on full charge,” James answered. “Hopefully we won't be here that long, but if we happen to get into a combat situation, they're not going to last. They're flimsy as hell and easily breakable.”

“Hopefully, it won't come down to that,” Natasha stated. “Agent Johnson, you're also not to use your powers unless absolutely necessary. Stick to firearms or hand-to-hand as much as possible. Inhumans were not know by anyone at this very moment, and unfortunately, there was also systemic racism against people of Asian descent during this time. So, your static-veil will be priority to preserve.”

“Why the racism?” Daisy asked, as Steve frowned slightly, but knew that he could not do anything about it.

“There was something called the Red Scare a decade or so after the end of World War Two. Everyone who didn't comply or fit the mold of a 'good, God-fearing' American was suspected to be a Communist. Unfortunately, China was also a Communist state in our reality. After what happened with the Japanese internment camps during the war, along other wars that happened after World War Two, and many other factors, people of Asian descent were treated with suspicion,” Natasha explained. “It's not as prominent as it is now here in the 80's, but it's still there. If your photo-static veil fails, we just can't have people seeing you and your powers used together. That would alert more than SHIELD.”

“Ah, gotcha,” Daisy said, but did not elaborate or protest the decision.

Steve didn't blame her at all – she, along with James had been thrown into another reality's time stream. It was the same situation he and Bucky had gotten into with the other reality, except now reversed. He sympathized with the two for not understanding the nuances of why people did what they did to others, as he was still coming to terms with his purpose, decades after people thought he had died. He remembered Peggy being quite frank with him during their bedside discussions on what had happened in the decades he had spent on ice – she had not minced words at all.

His talks with Peggy before she had died had given him a more sobering view of the world, and allowed him to understand a little of why SHIELD was the way it was. That being said, he did not agree with all of what SHIELD did to protect the world, but it was a little better than what other countries had engaged in. Now, stuck here until they could hunt down the 0-8-4 that had brought them here, the four of them had the potential to change their worlds' futures with one wrong move.

“So, regarding Peggy Carter,” James said, bringing the discussion back on topic. “How do we play this? I'm assuming that we can't just waltz up to the Triskelion, and that the lock down will make it even more difficult to infiltrate.”

“We use that lock down to our advantage,” Natasha stated. “I know a place where we can stake out and watch it happen. As soon as my younger self runs and hides in the safe house, the coast should be clear. We cause a commotion some place away from where my younger self is, surrender to the agents that respond, and somehow get Director Carter's attention.”

“I can handle the shock, Nat,” Steve said, ignoring the look that both Natasha and James had thrown him. “Otherwise, I wouldn't have proposed this route. We get Peggy's attention with me.”

Natasha didn't answer, though it was James's single nod of belief in him that made Steve feel a little happier. James was not his Bucky, but nevertheless, Steve was glad that the agent had his back and confidence on this. He knew why Natasha did not voice or give him her confidence, but he was determined to continue prove to her that he had a good hold on his emotions and actions when it concerned either Peggy or Bucky.

“All right, plan of action done, do we move now or wait until your younger self moves?” Daisy asked, breaking the silence.

Natasha brushed past them and made her way to the door. Cracking it slightly open, she peeked out before closing it. Turning back around, she said, “There's still a few hours before all hell breaks loose; enough to catch some shut eye before we need to move.”

“And you're sure we can't use either the bed or sofa?” the Inhuman agent asked, looking a little forlornly at the two aforementioned objects.

“Comfort and operations never went hand-in-hand, Agent Johnson,” Natasha simply answered. “This place was as pristine as we found it, when I came here for shelter. We'll do the wipe down before we leave. There's an alleyway on the ground floor at the north side of the building if you need to do your business, Agent Johnson.”

Not surprisingly, Steve heard Daisy grumble slightly, but didn't admonish her on it. For both him and Natasha, along with Sam and Wanda, sleeping rough and wherever they could in relative safety was what they had been doing since he had broken Sam and Wanda out of prison. It was their way of life, now and until they and Bucky were not considered fugitives from the law anymore.

Until Bucky was able to walk the Earth as a free man, Steve did whatever he could to protect both him and the Earth from the shadows – but first, he, Natasha, and the others needed to return to their time.

* * *

_Later..._

 

The interface was ancient, and the briefing had stated that the last time such a device had been used was back in 1947. Why his handlers insisted on using such an old and outdated communications device was not his concern, but it looked as it it had been modified with newer fittings and devices to be secured enough to carry an encrypted radio wave. The beeping sound it made certainly was not as loud or as chattering in noise as other encrypted communication devices he had heard operating in the silo. What it beeped as was Morse code, but complete gibberish, as it was supposed to deter or give completely false information to anyone eavesdropping. What the lines that contained the return messages to his sent ones were completely different than the beeps.

There was no one within five hundred yards outside, or in the room next door or across the hall to the one he was currently stationed in. The safe house was actually a secured room on the top floor within a hotel that overlooked a small park. Of course he had not walked through the front lobby to get to it, and had entered through the rooftop entrance. There were fail safes, pressure plates, and pre-recorded answers that played through the speakers embedded near the front of the door to give the illusion of guests within the hotel room. Further more, at least once every few weeks, a permanent operative stationed in the city checked in and out of the room to further the illusion.

Hiding in plain sight was the only way to survive in this city, and he had not needed the briefing to indicate that. Just the bare basics of the mission parameters told him that. Now though, with what happened at the Roxxon building, and an unknown operative who used the same hand signals as he and others within the department whose mission had nearly caused his own to derail, had forced him to get further confirmation from his handlers.

The 'ding' and zipping sound issuing from the communications device indicated that the message was done. He stepped over and pulled the sheet of paper out from the feed. Quickly reading through the message, he then crumpled it up and made his way to the tiny bathroom. He pulled out a lighter from one of his waist belt's compartments. Lighting the crumpled paper, he held onto the ball for a few moments, letting most of it catch fire before tossing it into the bathtub.

Wastebasket fires were the least secure way to get rid of information, as he watch the flames consume the crumpled paper. As soon as it was nothing but ashes and wisps of smoke fluttering up from the black pile, he turned on the shower. Flushing the ashes down the drain, he let the shower run a little further before shutting it off.

Making his way back out, he shut down the machine, wiped that down with a small cloth, and did the same to every single object he had touched. Stuffing the cloth into a compartment on his waist belt, he gingerly poked his head out of the still-open window. Seeing that the coast was still clear, he then began carefully climb back out.

He gripped the upper sill with his hands before setting his feet perpendicular to the sill. Reaching over to the small jut of a brick to his right, he shimmied over and firmly closed the window with his metal hand. It didn't take him long to get back up the rooftop, and once there, he glanced out towards the area where the Roxxon building was.

Lights were still flashing in the area, but it looked as if the initial panic had finally settled. His handlers had confirmed that as much, as there had been no indication that the time and place where the assassination was supposed to happen, had been moved. He was still on target, and with that final mental confirmation, he took off at a sprint and jumped across the rooftop to the next building.

Leaping side to side against the two building's walls, he made his way down from rooftop and into an alleyway just before the park. He landed on the asphalt in a crouch, letting his body absorb the impact for a few moments. Languidly standing back up, he performed a quick equipment check as the city's early morning rush hour started to become louder. Standard protocol for SHIELD was that their agents would begin a rooftop sweep soon, securing the area at least a few hours before the arrival of his target. Thus he would have to get to his secondary perch on the ground, rather by rooftop. A secondary locale for his perch would have to be used and it was on the other side of the park that the target was confirmed to show up in.

He began to circle the perimeter of Gordon Park, listening the city begin to wake up from its slumber. Satisfied that there was no one paying attention in the immediate vicinity, the Winter Soldier continued down through the various alleyways – enroute to mission execution.

* * *

“You're not sleeping.”

Natasha opened her eyes from her meditative state and looked up to see Barnes stop and sit cross-legged before her – their knees almost touching each other. She had heard his near-silent footsteps within the safe house, obstinately mostly in part to not disturb the other two from their sleep, rather than attempt to sneak up on her. The surprising thing was that he had sub-vocalized that statement – she didn't think anyone outside of the Red Room had that ability, as it was incredibly hard to achieve to perfect clarity.

“No,” she answered smiling and knowing that he could see it in the darkness that surrounded them. Her own eyes were already well-adjusted to the darkness of the safe house, and though Steve had told her that this other reality Barnes had absolutely no hint of the super-soldier formula running in his blood, it seemed that his own abilities were just the product of good training.

Sitting this close to her in the darkness, he looked younger than what she had seen in the light. His eyes spoke otherwise, but there seemed to be a similar youthfulness, of a longing for adventure and recklessness drawn upon his face. It was almost a mirror of Steve's face during the nights that he was not caught up in some terrible dream. Even though she could discern little about her dead counterpart in the other reality, she could see why her counterpart had reciprocated a physical relationship with this man in front of her. She was not going to deny that James Buchanan Barnes – in any reality – was a handsome man.

She just had no desire to even go down that route with her reality's Barnes; and it was not because Barnes had been the Winter Soldier who terrified and hunted her. No, she was sympathetic to the Winter Soldier's plight, and she refused to take Steve's Bucky away from him. Those two had a bond that she could not even begin to describe – and she had tried to, when she had tried to convince Stark to not confront them at the Berlin Airport.

“I usually stay awake when Steve gets like this,” she said, glancing over towards where her friend was sleeping. At the moment, it looked like mental exhaustion had won out, as Steve was snoring ever so gently and evenly on the strip of the floor he was lying on.

“Nightmares?” Barnes asked, following her lead. “His PTSD is manifesting, isn't it?”

“I take it that you guys encountered it while he was in your reality?” she asked, returning her attention onto him.

“No,” he answered, surprising her. “He was more concerned about dealing with Sergeant Barnes's PTSD and helping him through it – enough that I think he was either ignoring or burying his own symptoms.”

“He doesn't have that luxury anymore,” she stated.

“How bad is it?” he asked. She merely looked at him at some length before he concluded, “That bad.”

It wasn't that she was going to tell him just how bad Steve's symptoms were, she just felt that it was not his burden to bear – even with what he had stated earlier on the quinjet in keeping an eye on Steve in the place of his counterpart. Both she and Sam had already taken steps to mitigate when Steve's main symptom of his PTSD manifested into screams from the nightmares that plagued him. Of course, it woke both of them and Wanda up, but they had established a routine to calm him down. Sam was not here, but Natasha was also not going to show her worry that Steve being in proximity to the two people he cherished above everything else, was most likely going to produce some terrible nightmares.

Yet, she also knew that the longer they lingered here, the worse Steve would become, even if he had not shown any overt signs yet. This other reality Barnes was a friend of Steve's, and given the generalities of what she knew what happened in the other reality, she decided to inform him of Steve's current condition. Another pair of eyes keeping an eye on the mental health of her friend was not a detriment.

“He doesn't remember,” she spoke up after a few moments of silence, her tone serious. “He wakes up and he doesn't remember anything that happened during the nightmares – even when Sam and I manage to shake him out of them.” In a quieter tone, she said, “At least he claims not to.”

“If you want, I can watch over him for you,” Barnes offered, as Natasha saw sincerity in those dark eyes of his. “You look like you can use the rest, Romanov.”

“Thanks, but I'll take up your offer in lieu of sleep,” she said, feeling a little grateful. “We need some basic disguises, supplies for the operation, and some food. I know just where to get them.”

“All right, then,” he agreed, nodding once. “Good hunting, Ms. Romanov.”

* * *

_The morning sun was rapidly rising, even though the small mantel clock had not yet struck six-thirty. Steve paused in his sketch for a moment as his eyes lingered for a few seconds on the clock. It had been the only thing besides the meager amount of clothing he owned, that he had salvaged from the apartment that he and his mother had lived in. His father had built it just before he had left to go fight in the Great War. While the apartment was not burnt down, it was being three months behind the rent alone after his mother had died, that had finally forced him to admit to Bucky that he needed help._

_Now, he lived in a rather cramped but more affordable apartment near the shipyards, splitting the rent and bills with Bucky. Not only was it closer to the yards for Bucky – who worked at the yards – to occasionally return during the middle of the day to drop stuff off, or pick up a quick lunch of bread and beans, it gave Steve more insight for his political cartoons that he drew and sent to publishers. Gossip, rumors, and opinions flew around the shipyards like a squirrel hunting for nuts – and boy were there a lot of opinions that Steve was able to pick up on._

_Compared to his previous attempts to send to publishers his political cartoons, the rumors and gossip allowed him to formulate so many different cartoons that he was sending them out almost daily. His income had increased as a result of it as well – several major newspapers around the city wanted his cartoons every other day, relating to major national events. While most of what he sent were political opinions in nature, he had recently submitted a couple of illustrations to the pulp science fiction and fantasy magazines that Bucky loved to read._

_He blinked, drawing his eyes away from the small clock as he glanced back towards and through the door way. The tiny cramped room that contained only a bunk bed (Bucky took the bottom bunk, Steve took the top), the radiator, a creaky dresser for the clothes both he and Bucky owned, and a closet that really could not be called one, even though it was where the two of them hung their Sunday best for church. There was barely enough room for one of them to walk through if they needed to get out of the room, but damn was that place the warmest in the tiny apartment when the radiator was working during the winter._

_Steve's lips quirked up in a smile as he resumed sketching. Occasionally, his eyes flicked up to recapture the image of Bucky asleep, even though by now, he had every curve of bare skin over manual labor-honed muscle, lines and fold of the sheets surrounding his best friend, memorized._

_He knew it was just a little voyeuristic of him to stare as intensely as he had been doing since six in the morning, sketching his sleeping friend. But just the way the sunrise had lit Bucky up on the lower bunk, and the way his best friend was stretched out like a lazy, obliviously sleeping cat was too tempting to not sketch._

_The Adonis-like body – in his opinion – that his friend had been granted needed to be sketched and preserved by pencil. Steve knew that he was jealous and squashed it as best as he could. Yet, despite it all, Bucky still showed him the same kindness, generosity, and care after everything. There was warmth in Bucky that came not only from his physical presence, but in the actions he took. Steve wanted to achieve that ideal, to be a better person than he was now, even though it was still difficult to stop getting into fights with bullies._

_Glancing back down, he paused in his sketch as he brought his pencil to his lips and bit at the end of it ever so slightly. It was a bad habit, especially since the ones he used at the moment had been a gift from Bucky for his most recent birthday. But some habits were hard to shake, and he supposed that like his inability to turn away from making sure the bullies did not bully anyone else, pencil-biting was another he couldn't give up._

_His eyes focused on the area where the sheets that had covered Bucky in the beginning of the night had been unconsciously shoved down until they were pooling at his waist. As he used his right index finger to rub the lines he had drawn into more of a blended shadow to define Bucky's waist and stomach muscle tone, he frowned as his eyes ran over the lines he had drawn as representative of the sheets. The angles looked right... but something about those sheets, draped or bunched, were not settling correctly in the sketch—_

“ _Hey, you drew me.”_

_Steve snapped his eyes up from the sketch, feeling himself flush red in embarrassment as his hands automatically snapped the sketchpad shut. He had forgotten just how quiet Bucky could be, even in cramped spaces. Steve regularly bruised his shins just trying to get out from where the bunk was wedged in the room, to the dresser, and out into the main room that functioned as both a work area and kitchen. He had not wanted Bucky to find out about this – at least not yet – not until he was done with the sketch._

“ _Uh... hi,” he managed to utter as his eyes traveled up to see Bucky standing next to him. One of bed sheets that had been bunched and draped over Bucky was now wrapped around his waist._

“ _I wanna see it,” Bucky stated, extending out his free left hand, while his right held onto the sheet so that it did not fall._

_Mentally, Steve shook his head slightly, wondering why Bucky was even walking around with a sheet wrapped around him, when they both knew damn well that Bucky tossed modesty out of the window whenever it was the two of them alone. Bucky walking stark naked in their apartment at the crack of dawn was something Steve didn't mind, since both of them used to run around and swim in the water buck naked when they had been children. That sheet wrapped around his best friend's waist had briefly sent embarrassing, never-supposed-to-think-that-way thoughts of suggestive actions through Steve's mind._

_At the present though, there was no anger, no malice, no condemnation in Bucky's eyes, and Steve knew that he could not deny or refuse Bucky's request. He really couldn't, not when his best friend had snuck up on him like one of those exotic Japanese ninjas he had read about in a pulp fiction magazine._

“ _Fine,” he said, handing over the sketch pad._

_Bucky leaned against the table, freeing his right hand while using the table as a temporary stay against the sheet. Steve couldn't help but loudly sigh as Bucky began to flip through the entire sketch pad. As he rubbed his chin and looked around, wondering if he should get breakfast started, now that Bucky was awake, he occasionally glanced back up to see if there were any reaction from Bucky._

“ _Shouldn't you go get dressed?” he asked after what felt like an eternity of listening to the pages being flipped, but in reality, only a few minutes according to the mantel clock._

“ _You're not done with the sketch,” Bucky said, finally closing the sketch pad and handing it back to him._

“ _Yeah, well,” he began, taking it and placing it on the table before looking back up and shrugging._

“ _I like it, Steve,” Bucky began, but looked as if he wanted to say something as he fell silent for a moment. “Tell you what, punk,” Bucky finally continued after a moment of awkward silence, “you got all day to think about whether or not you want to finish that sketch. Let me know after I get back tonight, yeah?”_

“ _Yeah,” he agreed, brightening a little at the prospect of being offered a way out. It was already awkward enough that he had been caught red-handed sketching his best friend without his permission. Bucky didn't seem to be angry at him, and even said he 'liked it', but Steve still felt embarrassed. There were just some things that he did not want to admit when it concerned Bucky – even to himself._

_He stood up and made his way to the tiny stove, asking, “The usual for breakfast?”_

_Bucky snorted as he turned away from the table and grasped at the sheet again, making his way back into the bedroom to change into the shipyards' coverall uniform. “What else do we usually eat, Steve--”_

“Steve. Wake up, Steve.”

Steve immediately opened and blinked several times as his world came back into focus, and the strange dream that felt more like memory than dream rapidly faded. Natasha was crouched next to him, looking at him with some concern, but that quickly disappeared as fast as it had appeared. Steve sat up, glancing down to see that there was a duster coat crumpled on his lap. It had been draped over him, and it seemed that that was to be a temporary disguise to at least cover the uniform he wore. Natasha wore a leather jacket, though it looked as if she was swimming slightly in the size of it.

He scrubbed his hands over his face in an effort to further banish the tiredness he felt away. He looked around and saw James, wearing a similar duster coat, ejecting the clip from his 9-mil, checking it and the weapon. Further away was Daisy, wearing a trench coat over her uniform, who looked to be popping the last of whatever energy bar she was eating into her mouth.

“Ten minutes, Rogers,” Natasha stated, as he returned his attention to her and saw her hand over an open canteen and an unwrapped energy bar that reminded him of the so-called freeze-dried astronaut food.

Taking it, he nodded his thanks to her, and she got up, leaving him alone to quickly eat. The meal was meager and barely enough for his super-soldier metabolism, but he had to make do. It tasted chalky and terrible, especially if he tried to run the energy bar down with water at the same time, but he had had worse, and had eaten less before.

“You slept like a baby, Steve,” James said, taking over the spot Natasha had vacated. The static veil was already draped over James's face and activated. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding after he had finished the last of the chalky bar and chased that down with another swig of water from the canteen. Screwing the lid shut on the canteen, he clipped it to his waist belt.

Uncharacteristically, or rather, characteristically of what Bucky sometimes did – not to mention the action was the same as what he had dreamed – James seemed to hesitate for a moment. It was as if the man wanted to say something else, but seemed to settle for not saying what his original thoughts were. Instead, Steve heard him say, “I know being here is hard for you. I'm not going to presume to understand what you're going through, but if you need someone to talk to or just rant at, I'm here.”

Steve couldn't help but faintly smile at the generous offer, while at the same time, he felt a sharp pang stab in his heart with the words. They were something that Bucky – his reality's Bucky – would have said long ago. Now... he and his best friend were separated again, but voluntarily, as he wanted Bucky to get better; to get rid of the programming that threatened to constantly tear them apart. He knew that when that programming was finally removed, he would be there to welcome Bucky back _home_ – to keep their promise made to each other: forward and together, until the end of the line.

“Thanks,” he said, knowing that James had offered to just listen – not to cause him more pain – because he needed it.

Steve was not oblivious to the unstated words from both Natasha and James, and Daisy to an extent, to know that the three of them were worried about him. It was also why he was determined to prove to Natasha and the others that he had full control over his emotions and actions while they were stuck here. This was the past; his, Natasha, and even both James and Daisy's past. He was not selfish enough to ruin their futures by changing their pasts.

“Time to move out, Captains,” Natasha called out to both of them.

Accepting the hand that James offered, Steve was half-hauled up. He tossed on the duster and followed Daisy out of the door, with James shadowing him. Natasha took the rear, clearing and cleaning the last of their presences from the safe house. Up on the rooftop again, the skies were thick and cloudy, and it looked as if the morning rush hour had already past. The windowless safe house was a little disconcerting for time management, and Steve had been tired enough that his own internal time keeping had given up on him while he slept.

“The younger me scouted out six snipers perched in various places surrounding Gordon Park,” Natasha said as they approached the far end of the rooftop. “We'll be headed for the sniper that is inside the hotel overlooking the park. SHIELD tried to take no chances in ensuring that my predecessor could turn the tables, or attempt to assassinate any agent when she met with her contacts in the park. Plainclothes guards patrolled the perimeter of the park, and DC police had been alerted to an operation going on there.”

“High profile, indeed,” Steve heard James murmur.

“All right, light usage of your powers, Agent Johnson. Let's move,” Natasha ordered.

Together, the four of them swiftly and as silently as they could, made their way from rooftop to rooftop, towards the direction of the park. Steve noted that it was back in the direction they had run from a few hours before – the former Roxxon building – now actually owned by Roxxon in the past – that had contained the 0-8-4.

“They didn't lock down the area after the explosion?” he asked as they landed at least five buildings away from the Roxxon building.

“Not according to my memories,” Natasha stated, peering over the lip of the south side of the rooftop they were on. “Definitely not. Change the locale at the last minute, and my predecessor would have grown suspicious and left. I would have also been alerted to the change through my contacts. I remember seeing that plainclothes agent down there, wearing the grey fedora and duster. The defection operation is still on.”

“Looks like a typical G-man,” Daisy quipped, her attention drawn from where she was gazing out towards the park, as she too peered over with a mild look on her face. “The tax-man cometh in the form of SHIELD.”

“Down the central stairwell, Cap,” he heard Natasha say as he caught the tail end of James rolling his eyes slightly at the joke that Daisy had made.

“Copy,” he answered, and made his way over to the lone area on the rooftop that led to the central stairwell. Breaking open the door with force, he immediately grabbed it to prevent it from slamming into the inside wall.

Natasha led the way in, carefully winding her way down the steps. James followed her, footsteps making absolutely no noise. Surprisingly, Daisy's footsteps also produced no noise, and Steve was quite impressed with the young Inhuman agent's growth in skills. Last he remembered them trying to sneak around was when they had emerged from the Framework and were trying to find a way out. Back then, only he, along with Bucky, and James had had the necessary training and abilities to completely mask their footsteps on the floor. Daisy and Fitz had been clunking around with their noisy footsteps, clearly giving away their position within the facility.

When they got to the floor where Natasha had indicated the sniper was, she carefully opened the door and peeked out. Steve could hear a murmur of a voice down the hall, checking into the roll call that SHIELD was doing. Silently indicating for James to follow her, the two of them quietly and carefully stepped out into the hall. Steve did not join them and instead, held the door open as both he and Daisy peeked out.

Cat-like and eerily quiet, he watched as James and Natasha crept down the hall. At the end of it was a SHIELD sniper, and the fact that the sniper was set up in the hall and not in a hotel room indicated to Steve that the windows in the hotel rooms did not offer any good SA on the target area. It also told him that SHIELD had deliberately cleared out at least the floor above and below this area, stationing either agents or had given strict instructions to the hotel manager to not let any civilians approach this area.

Swiftly and without fanfare, he saw the two launch their attack. Natasha was the one who subdued the sniper with a quick and silent sleeper hold. James had launched himself at the equipment set up so that it did not clatter or move too much, lest it indicate to anyone potentially watching from the outside that a sniper had been taken out. It was only when Natasha indicated that it was safe to approach that Steve and Daisy made their way down the hall as well.

“Quake, find some analogue in the rooms on this floor for the rifle and stand,” Natasha said, unhooking the radio piece that the SHIELD sniper was wearing and handed the mouthpiece over to James. She hooked the ear piece over her left ear and listened in to the radio chatter. James had commandeered the rifle and was currently peering through the scope, sweeping the view point ever so slightly.

“Copy,” Daisy crisply answered.

“Cap, scout the rooftop and sweep the area with the binocs.” She pulled a pair of binoculars out from a compartment within the sniper's waist belt and handed it to him. “We're going to move stations to there. It's too risky for us to stay on this floor.”

“Copy,” he acknowledged, and walked back down the hall as lightly as he had entered.

As soon as he had secured the stairwell door behind him, he took to the steps three at a time. Careful not to make any noise, he crept out onto the rooftop and took a quick visual scan around him. There was nothing in the vicinity of where he was on the rooftop to indicate that anyone had seen them or were alerted to their presence since their travel to here. Making his way to the edge of the rooftop where it was directly below the sniper perch, he flattened himself onto the ground on his belly and brought the binoculars up.

The center of Gordon Park was a good few hundred yards away, but with most of the trees bereft of their leaves, it made it easier to see into the park. There were a few joggers running around, along with a couple of businessmen sitting and discussing stuff on a bench near the park's tiny pond. However, considering what Natasha had stated about SHIELD operatives being present, they did certainly look quite civilian enough to fool a passerby. He panned over from the two businessmen sitting near the pond to observe another pair of agents sitting on another bench a few feet down next to a willow tree—

“Peggy?”

Steve blinked as he tore his eyes away from the binoculars and took a quick look at the settings. Pressing his eyes back into the lenses, he fiddled with the settings by touch and zoomed in. She was not quite sitting in profile, but there was no mistaking it – he remembered the various photographs that dotted the dressers and nightstand in her room, and knew what she looked like throughout the decades. The woman sitting next to a male SHIELD agent was Peggy.

His thoughts began racing – surely she was not putting herself on the line to meet the Black Widow defector? Natasha had only said that she had assassinated her predecessor in a high profile showcasing, but nothing about collateral damage inflicted. If his memories served him right and nothing had changed in their future thus far, Peggy would survive, but Steve did not remember her telling him about any stories regarding a defection by the Black Widow.

“Hey!” the whispered greeting of Daisy jolted him out of his thoughts, as he heard the slight crunch of her flattening herself onto the rooftop. “Anything we need to worry about?”

He didn't get a chance to answer as the similar crunching sounds of both Natasha and James settling down on the other side of him caused him to turn his head towards them. “What the hell, Nat?!” he hissed, catching her attention. “Why didn't you tell me Peggy was leading the op?!”

“You just proved why I didn't tell you, Rogers,” Natasha answered in a low whisper, glaring at him. “I didn't touch her at all, Steve. I was ordered only to assassinate my predecessor. That's it.”

“What about collateral--” Steve began, incensed but managing to keep himself from exploding at her.

“Hey, can it!” Daisy's hiss from his left caused him to snap his mouth shut, as she snatched the binoculars out of his hands and peered through it. “There's something wrong in those trees on the street on the far side of the park.”

“That's the route I took to get in,” Natasha said, as Steve saw James focus the scope of the sniper rifle towards the far side of the park. “I don't remember sensing anything wrong.”

“I can't see anything...” James began.

“There's this weird hum I'm faintly feeling coming from that area... and there's only one time or rather person that produces that kind of hum... electronic feedback, if you will,” Daisy said, lowering the binoculars and giving Steve a worried look.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Steve said, keeping the heartfelt swear that he uncharacteristically yet desperately wanted to utter from being released, as he took the binoculars from Daisy.

Focusing on the area that she had indicated, it was James's declaration of, “Fucking hell, I think I see him,” that caused him to lower the binoculars, knowing that the lenses were not as powerful as the sniper scope. He didn't dare take the sniper rifle from James, not wanting to bear the heartbreak even further as he heard the man continue to say, “He's here. The Winter Soldier is here, and he's facing the park.”

“Nat,” Steve said, trying to control the anger and despair that threatened to overwhelm him, as he glanced over at her, just as James pulled back from the scope to look over at them. “I'm going to ask you one last time, friend to friend, teammate to teammate. What was the Winter Soldier's mission here?”

She remained silent, her expression matching that of a completely blank slate. “Nat,” he asked again, unable to keep the pleading tone from his voice. “Was the Winter Soldier... was Bucky's mission to assassinate Peggy?”

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah, that little blurb about racism that Natasha talks about is based on stories told to me by colleagues who experienced that during the beginning months of the Second Red Scare (McCarthyism).
> 
> Fair warning, as the chapters progress, things get a lot more grey for morality from everyone, including Steve. This is still Captain America, still superhero bombastic, but there is a good dash of realism mixed in, for this fic.


	3. Please Report Any and All Suspicious Activities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a few oblique/minor references to the Agent Carter TV series, and Antman movie in the latter half of the chapter, but nothing big enough to warrant listing it in the tags.

 

**Chapter 3: Please Report Any and All Suspicious Activities**

 

Target: acquired.

The Winter Soldier lightly rested his right index finger against the side of the trigger of his sniper rifle, deciding against pulling the trigger for the moment. His target was still sitting obliviously on the bench, next to the other agent. Yet, even when chatting with the other agent, his target still presented a clear profile for a clear and clean shot. Collateral damage was to be minimal if he took the shot right now, but it was a new development that stayed his finger.

On the far side of park, a woman with gentle curls of golden hair, wrapped up in a nondescript grey trench coat that matched what a few other 'business men and women' had, had entered the park. She was wearing black heels, and a skirt that ended about an inch below her knees. It was unusual dressage for such a cool weather in the area, but he had been briefed by his handlers as to what to expect for dressage by typical American business persons.

As the woman walked by the first two SHIELD agents who were jogging and coming around the bend, she spared neither a glance. However, he noticed that her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, before she pulled the maroon beret on her head a little further down. She knew who the joggers were, and to their credit, he did not see the joggers make any overt move to notify the rest of the agents in the area of the woman's arrival.

The team knew though, as he shifted his scope ever so slightly, briefly running ahead of the woman to see that the four bench-sitting agents, one of whom was his target, shifting ever so slightly on the benches they sat at – readying themselves. He continued to stay his finger on the side of the trigger. He had been given explicit instructions as to how this should play out first, before completing the mission.

A Black Widow's assassination always took priority.

~~~

“She is beautiful, I'll give you that,” Peggy murmured. She couldn't help but agree with the assessment that her husband had objectively given in that stunning briefing all those months ago.

It had surprised her and the other senior members in the briefing given all those months ago that her husband had unexpectedly made contact with the infamous Soviet seductress and assassin, Black Widow. During the two weeks he had been deployed to Budapest to help MI6 clean up an operation there, the Widow had come forward. Per standard protocol, her husband had immediately been isolated and scanned with the latest medical devices. He had also been grilled by psychologists until not one inch of his life or his marriage to her, Peggy, was not known to the psychologists. For what her husband had discovered and been in contact with, Peggy did not mind the invasion into their lives – she'd rather have her husband cleared of all potentially undue influence, than have him compromised and sent to prison.

Thankfully, nothing had been found upon her husband, nor had he been compromised emotionally, physically, or mentally. It was only recently that the senior board had elected to go forward with the mission to recruit the Black Widow. Today was to be the first meeting between her and the Black Widow – to assess whether or not the Widow's defection was true. Peggy would also assess if the Widow was to be a Confidential Informant or completely brought in from the cold.

The woman walking towards them, wrapped up in a grey trench coat with a maroon beret topping the crown of her golden hair, was gorgeously stunning. The Widow turned heads wherever she went, and even a few of the agents on this detail could not help but stare at her for a few moments before remembering their roles and duties. Peggy did not blame them for such an action, but knew that she would have to send those agents who reacted with double-takes at the Widow for retraining. They gave themselves away a little too easily with their actions.

Both she and her husband stood at the same time and approached the Widow before the woman could pass by the other two agents sitting on the other bench. Her husband extended a hand out, warmly greeting the Widow, saying, “Good morning, Black Widow.”

“Good morning to you as well, Agent Sousa,” the Widow answered, nodding and grasping his hand, giving it a firm shake.

It was Peggy's turn, and she said, “Hello. I am Peggy Carter, Director of SHIELD.” The Widow's eyes widened ever so slightly before she recovered from her surprise and grasped her hand. Peggy noted that despite the Widow's slim, almost delicately porcelain looks, she had an extremely firm handshake.

Letting go, Peggy then stepped to the side, gesturing to the bench that she and her husband had been sitting at, saying, “If you would please, let's sit. I'm sure Agent Sousa explained the circumstances of this meeting?”

“A little. I was told that other SHIELD agents would want to vet me before my story was to be believed. I had not expected the Director herself to be the one interviewing me,” the woman answered, her American accent flawless and without a hint of Eastern European roots.

The short walk back to the bench was uneventful, and together the three of them sat. Peggy didn't wait for the Widow to settle down and immediately asked, “Might there be a name we can call you, instead of your code name?”

“Belova,” the woman quietly stated after a few moments, “My name... my aliased name given to me is Yelena Belova.”

“Aliased name?” Peggy questioned.

“I don't know my real name, Director,” the woman answered, falling silent immediately afterwards.

“All right,” she carefully stated, deciding not to push for now. It was time to get down to business anyways, and she decided to be blunt and straight to the point, sensing that the woman sitting on her left was not one to draw out any sort of small talk unless necessary. “Let's talk about the terms and conditions of your defection, Ms. Belova.”

~~~

“Nat,” Steve asked, unable to keep the pleading tone from his voice. “Was the Winter Soldier... was Bucky's mission to assassinate Peggy?”

Silence continued to answer his question, and Natasha had returned her attention forward, even as a frown appeared on her face. “Yelena Belova,” she quietly stated after a few long moments. “Aliased in 1979. She was the longest-serving Black Widow up until her death.”

“And what--” Steve began, tightening his grip around the binoculars for a moment before easing his hold on them so he didn't crush them.

“I think I know why the Winter Soldier hasn't taken his shot yet at his target, Steve,” Natasha interrupted, glancing over at him. There was a chipped and flinty look in her eyes, but Steve did not flinch or turn away from it. “If his target had been Director Carter, he would have already taken it well before we would have set up, Rogers. Well before she even would have made her self comfortable in the park. You've seen in him action before, you _know_ how he operates.”

Despite himself, Steve found that he was nodding ever so slightly to Natasha's words. She was right, overtly and covertly. He knew, had seen, and had experienced the ruthless efficiency that the Winter Soldier brought against his targets. Steve also knew that he was letting his emotions taken control of his actions, and right now, he needed to keep a tighter lid on them. Despite his promise to himself to show the others that he had control over himself and his actions when it came to the two people he cherished the most, he had just displayed his own selfish hypocrisy in full view of his friends. If he couldn't even keep his own promises to himself, then what the hell was he doing?

“He's targeting the Black Widow,” came the surprisingly quiet comment from James, causing Steve to focus beyond Natasha and onto the man. James was peering through the sniper scope again, as he continued to say, “If you failed to kill your predecessor, he was to kill both of you, wasn't he, Romanov?”

“It's the only logical explanation as to why he hasn't pulled the trigger yet,” Natasha stated. “Widows have worked with the Winter Soldier before. We were told to trust the mission objectives laid out before us whenever on a joint mission, not the operative behind it.”

“A check and balance system,” Steve concluded, closing his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again.

He didn't need elaboration by her to understand that what she grew up in – trained in – was a system fueled by paranoia. There was a distinct lack of trust in people, and the only trust any operative within that system was that what they were doing was the right thing. Merciless meritocracy was rewarded, and any deviation was most likely severely punished. Though it made Steve sad to come to such a conclusion, at this very moment, he could not afford to linger on such thoughts.

“Head's up,” James's sharp tone caught all of their attention, “Looks like your younger self just showed up, Romanov.”

~~~

It wasn't a sixth sense that always alerted him to the presence of the female agents that eventually attempted to take the title of Black Widow. It was more of a itch at the back of his mind that he never seemed to be able to get rid of, no matter how many times he went into and out of ice. Each Black Widow that he encountered, whether on site or in the field, always elicited that phantom itch. This was no different as his left eye glanced over and beyond the thick branches of the tree perch to see a young woman boldly walk into the park, unmolested by the SHIELD agents formerly on duty at the entrance and outer perimeter.

She had fire-red hair bouncing under the black wool beret she wore, and an equally stylish black pea coat that was accented by the wide blood-red belt wrapped around her waist. Widows usually did not advertise their status, especially not in public, but it seemed that either the handlers wanted her to call attention to herself, or she was a bold one. It didn't matter, as she was certainly drawing attention of the other agents in the park. His right eye, still focused through the scope, had seen the two agents and the soon-to-be former Black Widow rise from their benches.

His right eye kept focus and trained on the three, one of which was his primary target, and the secondary one in that cluster as well. His left eye drifted for a moment and focused on gathering as much as he could about the formation that the SHIELD agents were taking. Still, the flame-haired potential successor of the Black Widow title continued to walk down the path towards her predecessor and the two agents. He had to give the young woman credit – she certainly was more fearless than any of her predecessors.

The agents themselves all carried small firearms with them – none had a sub-machine gun or anything heavier than a Glock, as none anticipated a prolonged firefight. Backup in the form of the DC police and various armed services centers around the area were present and accounted for. The six snipers already identified throughout their perches that were not all rooftops--

что?

There still were six snipers, but his left eye narrowed ever so slightly at the oddity he had discovered. Taking the chance, he shifted the angle of his rifle and scope ever so slightly off of his primary and secondary targets to better account for the anomaly he had noted with his left eye. That sixth sniper, perched in the hall of the very hotel that had served as his brief safe house a few hours earlier, was no longer there. In lieu of the shadow that cast itself as the sixth sniper was a roughly hewn shape of a wire hanger and some other things.

The sniper had moved. As the Winter Soldier raised his rifle and scope a tenth of a degree towards zenith, he saw them.

~~~

“Why do your agents not shoot her? She is the enemy. She has been sent by the Red Room to assassinate me! You should shoot her!”

Peggy ignored Belova's insistent orders as she drew out her gun and kept it steadily pointed at the red-haired young woman who had abruptly walked into the park from the other entrance. She stood in front of Belova, while her husband stood next to the agent, with his gun out as well and ready to provide covering fire.

Six agents, all of them either dressed in business attire or in jogging clothes had stopped the young woman about three hundred yards from where she, her husband, and the Black Widow were. They all had their guns out and pointed directly at the young woman, who looked unruffled at so many weapons pointed at her. There was an unusual calmness that the young woman carried that made Peggy uneasy.

Tapping the radio earpiece that she wore, she called in, “Alpha team, report.”

“Ma'am, this is Agent Horn,” the leader of Bravo team called in over the radio, huffing slightly, indicating that he and his team had sprinted from their positions. “Alpha is down, I repeat, Alpha is down. They're all dead. Looks like no physical trauma though.”

Peggy mentally cursed, knowing that Horn's report was over the general secured line, but there was no way around it. They had to keep the line open for all three teams on this operation, due to the subject matter. “Secure the area, Bravo. Charlie--”

She didn't get to finish giving her orders when a strangled noise issued up from behind her. Whipping her head around and stepping to the side, she caught the tail end of Belova collapsing onto the ground, convulsing. Her husband had managed to arrest Belova's fall, but could only watch in horror, like she did, foam issue out of Belova's mouth before the Black Widow went still.

Even before a second passed with the Widow's eyes taking on the glassy look of the dead, chaos suddenly exploded around Peggy and her agents.

~~~

“Uh, sirs, and ma'am,” Daisy's worried tone pulled all of them out from their concentrated observations as Steve saw Peggy and the other agent sitting next to the Black Widow rise up from the bench. Both Peggy and the other agent had their sidearms out and pointed at the younger Natasha, who was surrounded by six SHIELD armed agents. “If we can see the Winter Soldier,” Daisy continued, “can't he see us?”

James cursed at the same time Natasha spat out something incredibly filthy in Russian, as Steve realized the implications of Daisy's words. Unfortunately, none of them had any time to process or take action on the realization as Steve suddenly saw through the binoculars, a frenetic chaos explode in the park. Young Natasha had done something to kill her predecessor, and just as Peggy and the other agent's attention was diverted to Belova falling to the ground, he saw the new Black Widow strike.

As fast and as deadly as he had seen Natasha in action, he saw the younger Natasha sweep, duck, and spin kick all six agents down onto the ground. The angle and trajectory of their guns, and the firing of them flew all over the place. Agents were downed in friendly fire as the young Black Widow then leapt up and away, sprinting to safety with a hail of gunfire following her--

That was all Steve saw saw as less than a blink of his eyes later, his vision was filled with something black and metallic-like. An acrid smell also hung in the air, and he only realized it a moment later that a low hollow-ringing sound had accompanied both the sight and smell. Dropping the binoculars in surprise, he blinked as he found himself staring at unmarked bullet with absolutely no rifling upon it – that all four of them were staring at four bullets aimed precisely at their foreheads.

It was only by the grace and reaction of Daisy's powers that she had stopped the bullets from hitting them. For the brief moment she held the four bullets still, Steve reached out and plucked the one aimed at him out of the air. It was still extremely hot to the touch, even through his gloves, but there was no mistaking it – the Winter Soldier had fired at him... at all of them.

“Shit, we have to move!” James's yell just as the ground beneath them drowned out whatever else the man was about to say. Stinging pelts of the fragmented chips from the rooftop lanced up as Steve immediately rolled backwards and up, just as Daisy dropped the vibration shield she had put up with her powers.

“Ground level!” he ordered, scrambling up and running away from the edge of the rooftop, as the other five SHIELD snipers, with their attention called to this particular area by what the Winter Soldier had done, continued to pepper the rooftop.

He leapt over the north edge, his trajectory taking him towards the wall of the adjacent building. It was close enough for him to zig-zag, bouncing down and using his momentum to angle and push off either side of the building until he landed on the ground. He let his body absorb the impact for a moment. It was only after Natasha had landed as well, and the hollow-ringing noise of Daisy's powers indicating that she had used it to slow down both her and James's momentum, that he took off.

Bullets and the screech of tyres, along with shouts and footfalls echoed behind them. Mindful of what Natasha said about the Soviet safe houses that were being used, he instead, led them through several twists and turns in alleyways, trying his damnest to avoid the main thoroughfares. Occasionally, he glanced back, pulling out and activating the collapsible bou, flicking his wrist this way and that to deflect bullets that came too close to them, as he gestured towards Natasha to continue down an alleyway.

Sweeping up, making sure that neither Daisy nor James were left behind whenever either of them paused to provide covering fire or a blast of powers, he took the lead again as they passed by K-street and continued to head north. The police were still chasing them as he could hear the sirens still winding up and around the city, but SHIELD was not. He had a feeling that they had were pulling back the ground level agents to bring in the ones in the helicopters. Quinjets had not been invented yet, but if they did not find shelter soon enough, they were going to be toast either way.

“Where are we headed, Steve?” Natasha huffed as Steve took a sharp left to bring them towards Chinatown.

“Abandoned warehouse I used to take shelter in when the paparazzi got to be too much during the morning runs,” he answered, glancing back to see James and Daisy keeping pace.

Another sharp right, a few blocks north, bypassing Chinatown entirely, and up towards Logan Circle, Steve finally slowed down. The place had changed quite a lot since the 80's but the facade in which he had found the abandoned warehouse was still present. It looked newer, and not as paint-stripped as it had been the last time Steve had taken shelter in the place. There was definitely a newer padlock and chain on the gate, but he ignored that in lieu of sprinting full tilt and leaping up and onto the fence.

Scrambling over, he landed lightly and heard the others do the same. Collapsing the bou and tucking it back into its hooked area on his waist belt, while tucking the bullet into a pouch. He hurried down the dusty, still garbage filled alleyway that led to the tucked-in-a-hole entrance of the warehouse.

This entire area reminded him of the warehouses in 1940's Brooklyn, where bullies would sometimes drag him into, to beat the pulp out of him. It was out of sight and out of mind for most sensible people to avoid, as more than once, some homeless person or group took shelter in the area.

The first time Steve had stumbled into the place had been purely by accident. He had been trying to find a way to lose a rather persistent tail of a paparazzi who had unexpectedly decided to join him on his morning runs in and along the Washington Mall. Surprisingly, the homeless man who had originally taken shelter in the warehouse had chased off the paparazzi, and Steve had tried to give him money and help him find a job in return.

The man had refused both, and stated that this was his domain, inviting him, Steve, to take shelter here whenever he needed to. Steve had taken the exchange for what it was, but he still occasionally brought the man and some of the man's friends meals, even when he was not being hounded by tabloid photographers.

Tapping the ten-foot metal flimsy walls that barricaded the structure and entrance, he finally heard the hollow noise he needed and gently pushed the metal away. Gesturing for Natasha and the others to enter, he took a quick look up and down the 'alleyway' before slipping inside. The faint sounds of helicopter rotors echoed in the distance, as he brushed past Natasha and headed further beyond the 'courtyard' of the warehouse.

As expected, the door that he usually used to get in was locked. He wasn't naive enough to assume that the warehouse had been used sometime in the past, but as he looked around, he couldn't see any security features that jumped out at him. “Any electronics, Daisy?” he quietly asked, as the sounds of the helicopters approaching increased slightly.

“None that I can sense, sir,” the Inhuman agent stated after a moment of splaying her hands out and panning them around the entrance. “Feels like a good old fashioned lock. Want me to vibrate it open?”

“Please,” he said, standing back and allowing Daisy to take his spot.

“We can't stay here for long, Steve,” Natasha said, as Daisy got to work. “They might deploy dogs to the site, and if they catch our scent—”

“We'll move at nightfall,” he stated. “We'll borrow--”

“Steal--” Natasha interrupted.

“--a car, get out of the city for a few days, then come back,” he continued, ignoring her. “We can't go anywhere near SHIELD HQ right now, not with what happened.”

“When did you learn how to steal a car?” James asked, giving him a puzzled look.

“Nazi Germany,” he stated.

Fortunately, their brief moment of respite was cut short, as the creaking of a metal door being opened drew their attention towards where Daisy was. James immediately took point, his sidearm up and pointed ahead, with the sniper rifle he had been holding onto slung across his back. Steve had a momentary pang of sadness fill him as he saw James disappear, looking exactly as Bucky had looked during the war with the stance and weaponry. Combined with what happened earlier, he wasn't sure what to make of the Winter Soldier shooting at them, or if he would be able to settle the roller coaster of emotions roiling through him.

He managed to shake himself out of that reverie as Natasha followed James. Steve follow her and as he passed Daisy, he paused and turned slightly towards her saying, “Thank you, Agent Johnson, for stopping those bullets. If it weren't for you, we'd all be dead.”

“Yeah,” she said, rubbing her arms for a couple of moments before giving him a weak smile and nodding.

He didn't blame her for her current actions – she was most likely just as shaken as he was with what had happened. Only James and Natasha seemed to act quite unflappable, but he wondered just how much of it was a facade for the two. He wasn't going call either of them out, but he hoped that they were okay.

Inside and with the door closed, the faint sunlight streaming through the high slits of windows barely provided any good visual reference, but Steve knew by heart how enormous this place was. It didn't surprise him to see it filled with many things piled high and almost to the rooftop. Pallets after pallets were stacked in rows and columns, some neatly organized, some enormous – but all of them were covered by sheets protecting whatever was underneath it from dust.

“Damn,” Daisy's whispered exclamation broke the silence as the four of them wandered in and around the rows and columns. “This place is huge.”

As they went further into it, they could definitely hear the buzz of at least two helicopters flying low pass by. Steve suppressed the urge to duck, knowing that there was a rooftop over them and that judging by the sound of the helicopters, they were not the military ones with infrared or thermal-heat seeking devices attached to them. Still, he did not discount Natasha's worry about potential ground searches, especially if the DC police decided to employ dogs in their search.

“Let's climb up,” he suggested, spotting what he hoped was a sturdy looking area that they could use to climb up and take shelter at the top of the stacks of whatever it was that was housed here. “Daisy, you're first. Secure the path for us.”

“Copy that, Cap,” she crisply answered.

It was not that he refused to go first, but considering that they did not want to move or shift anything in this warehouse too much, Daisy's careful scouting and usage of her powers on her way up to the top would provide them the path of least resistance. Making a stirrup with his hands, he boosted the young Inhuman agent up. He watched her climb, her movements ruffling the sheets covering the objects in her path ever so slightly, but it looked as if she was climbing crates, as he had hoped.

“Steve,” Natasha's concerned voice brought his attention back down to her as he saw her step forward. She crouched down and lifted the sheet directly over the area where Daisy had gotten a leg up. “I don't think we can stay here until nightfall,” she continued, lifting the sheet up further.

Steve blanched as he stared at the burned etching of the swept arrow logo on the crates: Stark Industries.

* * *

_Later..._

 

“Peg?”

Peggy looked up from her listless stare through the window of the morgue within SHIELD headquarters. There were a few other personnel wandering in and around the floor, but she didn't care about appearances at the moment. Wrapping an arm around her husband's waist, she felt him reciprocate and leaned her head against his chest. “What happened today--”

“Was not your fault, Peggy,” her husband quietly answered. No one could have anticipated that the Soviets would send someone that young to assassinate the Black Widow. We all knew that it was a risk to meet her in such a public place.”

“So you believe that it was that red-haired young woman who killed Belova?” she asked.

The tears that she had shed for the fallen members of Alpha and Charlie had long been dried, but the lingering regret continued. Their letters of condolences still needed to be written, but she would get to that in a couple of hours. At the moment, she was still processing the two-fold report from the agents and police canvassing the area, and from what those who had survived the close proximity attack from the red-haired woman.

“Coroner's report states that it was cyanide, delivered by injection. Somehow, that red-haired woman got a shot off, missing both you and me,” her husband answered. “That bullshit from the police about a sniper on the hotel rooftop doing it doesn't hold. I know what a Widow can do, and I'd have to say that that red-head was probably trained the same way as Belova.”

“Same as Dottie Underwood?” she asked, frowning slightly as she turned her head to look up slightly at him. “Kill the target and presume a dead man walking before he or she knows that they are already dead?”

“Probably from the same school, except you know, adapted to modern times,” he answered. “But you should get some rest Peggy. They're still searching, and they'll still be searching when you wake up.”

She gave him a look, but there was no malice or venom behind that look. He was always nagging her to sleep, even if it was only an hour or two before a fresh new crisis called over the phone and woke her back up. “I'll try,” she said, nodding. “After I finish those letters to their families.”

“I'll hold you to that, Peg,” her husband answered. “Besides, you gotta look your best for tomorrow. Remember that Howard's coming by to discuss strategy on getting Dr. Pym to work with us. We need both of you at your sharpest for this.”

“Ah yes,” she said, grateful for the reminder before tilting her head up to give her husband a peck on the cheek. “I almost forgot that Howard was coming by. If you can, please see to it that the police don't disturb his warehouses too much, if it's on their canvassing grid? If only Congress approved of our budget to begin building the Slingshot, we wouldn't have to lease Stark Industries' warehouses around the city. I don't want the police poking through things that really shouldn't be touched.”

At that her husband nodded in understanding, as he said, “Will do, Peg. Will do.”

~~~

The law enforcement officer and SHIELD were not all cleared out yet, especially not this close to the park, but he deemed it adequately safe enough to leave the shelter of the safe house for a few minutes. It was a change in shift, and the only time and opportunity he would be able to examine the scene without disturbance, and in the cover of night. Come daylight, he was quite sure that the scene would have been cleaned up by some agency or another, and thus he would lose his opportunity to initiate a track and follow.

His left hand curled ever so slightly as the whine of the mechanical arm hummed at a high pitch in frequency for a second before he uncurled the metallic fingers. It was twice now, twice that that fair-haired woman and the three she associated with, had interfered with his mission. He should have killed them when he had the chance last night--

He gritted his teeth, lost chances were only an aberration. He needed to find out how exactly the woman knew of the hand signals, find the leak within the organization, plug that and all of that leak's associates – before killing the woman and the other three. He had clearly seen their faces through his scope, though two of the faces caused a strange memory of an underground brick bunker to surface. Where that memory came from, he wasn't sure, but he had crushed it, as it provided no assistance in his mission.

It was the light-haired woman's appearance that caused him the most concern though – he could have sworn that she looked similar to the new Black Widow, except older. His handlers had not stated anything about the former Black Widow and her successor, other than to carry out the assassination if the successor failed to kill her predecessor. Was this fair-haired woman an agent on a separate clandestine mission for the mother country? Or was she an interloper, somehow related to the new Black Widow?

He had little answers and even more questions that he hesitated to send over the communications device in the safe house. His primary target was still alive, given a stay of execution strictly due to his suspicions on the fair-haired woman and her mission. If SHIELD could not find anything on the fair-haired woman after he had directed their attention to the four, then he would kill them, along with his primary target. For now, as he climbed up the side and over onto the rooftop, he would investigate.

He crouched, listening and looking around carefully. Sirens whooped by below on the ground, and the static sounds of law enforcement officers talking on their radios could be heard. Snipers patrolled the rooftops near important centers, and flood lights filled the park, casting its hideously white wash upon the area. He kept his profile low as he crabbed towards the southern edge of the rooftop before flattening himself.

He could see the glittering shells of the bullets he had fired – but there were only three present. Of the three, none of them looked as if they had been squashed against any type of armor. They looked pristine; a little too pristine, as if they had merely stopped in their trajectories and then dropped right then and there onto the rooftop. The fourth bullet was missing, and he had not smelled blood anywhere.

Scuff marks and flecks of debris on the rooftop indicated that the four had scrambled back, and that one of them had dropped and left binoculars. He didn't reach out to touch it at all, as he was not an idiot to go about leaving traces of his presence in the area. Photographs most likely had already been taken of the area, as evident from the numerous scuff marks, and someone would be by later to collect the evidence.

Pushing himself back up, he crabbed back to the north edge of the rooftop. As he suspected, the four had leapt off at this place. Were it not for the harsh floodlights at the park, he wouldn't have seen the faint imprint of a quarter portion of a boot on the building's facing wall directly in front of him. He felt his lips curl into a feral, grim smile. At least one of the four had some athletic ability to do a zig-zag drop between the two buildings.

Pulling back from his observations, he quietly and quickly returned to the shelter of the safe house. He knew little to nothing about the four other than what he had observed thus far, but what he now inferred was that perhaps the motherland had sent a strike team in with little to now knowledge of other operations happening in the city. It had happened before – lower echelons of the KGB running afoul of Red Room operations.

Whomever had sent the strike team in was interfering with agents already stationed in and around the city. It was time to teach that strike team a lesson, and to have them bring back to their masters as to whom exactly had priority whenever it came to missions. He would leave the rest up to Karpov to handle once he reported back, and after his primary target had been assassinated.

The Winter Soldier slung the sniper rifle over his back – he would no longer be needing the briefcase, not after he dealt with the interlopers, and certainly not after he infiltrated SHIELD at their headquarters.

~~~

“Steve, I swear, stop sighing or help me God, I'm going to put you in a choke hold. Either spit it out, or go to sleep.”

Steve blinked, dragging his eyes down from his staring at the ceiling of the warehouse and looking over towards his left to see James staring at him with a rather annoyed look. “Sorry,” he whispered in answer.

The annoyed expression on the man's face didn't remain long though as he saw him shake his head slightly, asking, “You want to talk about it?”

After the discovery of whose warehouse had taken shelter in, Natasha had immediately scouted out the area, coming back only after a minute outside. The pinched look on her face had told Steve everything – police and SHIELD had already began canvassing the area. They could not move, not at the moment. Surprisingly though, not one agent or policeman had entered the warehouse, and Steve had to presume that it was only because it was Stark property, and no one had a warrant to search the premises. At least he hoped his assumption had been correct.

Helicopters were still buzzing the area, and though he had stated that they should move in the night to get out of the city, he hadn't ordered the team to do so yet. They were exhausted – he was exhausted, and it was not just physically. He knew that he had to get them up soon, but perhaps another hour or so of sleep, to rest and wait until the noise died down some more, would be good for all of them.

If only he could go to sleep himself, as he knew that staying up and letting his thoughts wander in and out of memories was just going to drive himself crazy. Instead, he focused on James's question, of his offer earlier in the day to just sit and listen. It helped that the man who looked and acted like Bucky pre-war, still had his static veil on, but at the same time, Steve just wanted to _see_ Bucky's face, to see that cocky grin of reassurance that everything was going to be all right.

He didn't dare though – he didn't dare ask James to remove the static veil he wore to keep his identity safe. He missed Bucky, missed the distant closeness they had when they had been transported to another reality, missed his presence however cold, sharp, and familiarly unfamiliar to him--

“I'm not his replacement goldfish, Steve,” James stated, catapulting Steve out of his thoughts as he realized that he had stated his 'missing of Bucky' out loud.

“But,” James continued before Steve could take his words back, feeling strangely embarrassed that he had stated something that he had never admitted to himself out loud. He glanced down as he felt James slip his right hand into his left. James's hand was warm, strong, and calloused to the touch. Firearms and weapons training produced those callouses, and Steve could very well imagine that Bucky's hands were the same.

Curious, yet slightly terrified at the same time, he wondered what the man was doing as he felt his left hand being brought up, still entwined within James's right hand. However, James then twisted his hand out as Steve felt and saw James place his right hand over his left, exactly upon his, Steve's, heart.

“He still in here,” James said, before withdrawing his own hand away, the tips of his fingers briefly dancing like small jolts of electricity across the top of Steve's hand. “You might miss his physical presence, but he's always inside of you. Just remember, you have someone to go home to – someone who will miss you as much as you miss him, if you don't return from this era. Keep that in mind, Steve, and you'll get through this.”

Steve found himself hesitating, wanting to say that he knew, but yet he felt admitting that was not entirely true. The pull to change the fates of Peggy and Bucky right now was still great, and he would be kidding himself if he didn't admit to himself that it affected him quite a bit. Even after what had happened hours earlier—

It was Natasha's sleepy, irritated grumble from his right, saying, “Steve, save the pillow talk for a hotel room. I'd like my goddamn sleep, please,” that interrupted his thoughts though.

He saw James quietly snort in laughter, bringing his right hand up to his mouth to bite on his knuckles in an effort to not laugh out loud. Steve couldn't help but smile in amusement either, knowing that Natasha's statement was made in jest. Trust Natasha to make sure that even during times of despair, she always knew how to lighten the mood and make sure everyone's head was screwed on correctly.

He lightly tapped the tips of his left hand's fingers over his chest, leaving his arm crooked as he silently nodded his thanks towards James. Looking back up towards the ceiling, he finally closed his eyes—

It was the sound of locks being opened, and the screech of metal against metal that caused him to snap his eyes open. He was instantly alert and flipped over from where he had been lying, facing the direction where the noise had come from. The others had also been roused to wakefulness, and were scrunched as small as they could at the top of this particular tall row of crates. Shouts of several policemen echoed throughout the warehouse as he and the others shot each other looks, hoping and praying that the sweep being conducted would be short.

“And who the hell do you think you are?! You can't bully me without a warrant! I want this goddamn search on official record of me not allowing it because there isn't any fucking warrant!”

“Howard?” he breathed, managing to keep his surprise below a whisper, catching Natasha's equally surprised look.

Steve knew that before Natasha had joined the Avengers, she had taken an undercover assignment to monitor and assess Tony's fitness to join the outfit. That meant she had to review and educate herself on Stark Industries and it's history. It also meant that she knew a little more than most of the average people did about Howard Stark.

It was only when the warehouse's floodlights began to flicker on that he and the others went still. Flashlights and officers bumbling around was one thing, but the floodlights – that was trouble. If Steve could flatten himself against the crates any further, he tried to, as he heard officers begin to run up and down the row he and his team were currently lying on top of. A few boxes and crates were overturned, and more than one sheet was being pulled off to reveal whatever was underneath them.

“All right, your five minutes are up! Get out!” he heard Howard bellow quite angrily.

“We'll be back again, if there's any newly reported suspicion around the area, Mr. Stark,” a man stated.

“And you'd better have a damn warrant next time, Officer Reynolds,” Howard testily replied.

It took a few minutes, but soon, the warehouse was finally emptied. However, after the door was closed, and the noise of the sirens and cars pulling away gradually lessened, the lights remained as so. Steve blinked and narrowed his eyes as he listened and thought he heard footsteps echoing in the vast warehouse. There was still someone here... and if he was right in his assumption...

Taking the chance, he peered over, ignoring the hiss of his name from both Natasha and James. Down the long 'corridor' surrounded by this row that he and his friends were lying on, and the next one over, he couldn't help but smile slightly. Howard, decked out in a rather expensive-looking suit, with white hair, was grumbling while walking down the corridor. His back was towards them, and Steve could see him picking up one of the hastily torn sheets from some project that his friend had stored in this warehouse.

“I think I know how to get into the Triskelion and get that device,” he said, as an idea struck him. He glancing over towards Natasha, while catching Daisy's rather alarmed look, but before either of them, or James for the matter, could protest, he immediately leapt down.

Landing softly on the ground without a sound, he stood up and gave a wave towards the other three, still hiding out on the perch. James was right – in an odd way – they needed to get back to their era before they could do any more damage, and before he succumbed to the temptation to change the future. The fastest way was going to get Howard Stark to believe their story, and have him help them. He hated doing this to Howard, lying to him, but he had to – the ghosts of his past were beginning to become to be too much for him to bear.

Silently approaching, it was only when he was a few yards away from Howard, that he cleared his throat, saying out loud, “Howard Stark?” He saw his old friend stop and stiffen in surprise. Just as Howard began to turn, Steve held his hands up, hoping that Howard was not going to pull a gun on him.

“D-dear God,” Howard stuttered as he saw him take a step back. “C-captain... Steve?!”

It took all of his effort and then some more to keep himself from reacting to Howard's gobsmacked reaction. It was an even bigger effort to not drop his facade and approach to embrace his old friend. It was difficult, it was hard, but it was now the path he had committed himself and his team towards.

“Hello Mr. Stark,” he stated, trying his best to keep his voice from trembling and breaking down as he lied. “My name is Captain Steven Rogers, United States Air Force Intelligence. My friends and I seemed to have been transported to your world from another reality. We need your help to return.”

 

~*~*~*~

 


	4. If You See Something, Say Something

 

**Chapter 4: If You See Something, Say Something**

 

Red and blue lights still flashed in the area, but none of the policemen were looking towards the skies. They relied on the helicopters buzzing in the area to do that work for them; relying on old, outdated equipment that was incomparable to what he had been supplied with. It was easy to dodge and hide from the police's search pattern – both on the ground and in the skies. He had memorized it after observing their comings and goings for a few minutes.

His perch had been a rather rickety perch in between pipes that ran up and down the enormous water tank on this particular building. However, it had provided the best view of everything in the vicinity though the night-vision binoculars he had carried with him.

SHIELD personnel, on the other hand, were not present in this area, and were still swarming the park and its vicinity. It was only because he had tapped into the radio stolen off of a policeman who had wandered a little too close and into his initial investigation area. Said policeman had had his neck snapped and body stashed deep into a commercial trash bin. The body would not be found for at least three days.

After that, he had made his way to here, north of Logan Circle. The radio was tucked away, the microphone broken so that no accidental pushing of the call button would trigger any extraneous noise, while the earpiece was looped around and tucked into his right ear.

Looking around as he listened, he saw several police cars leave the area, a shift change taking place. There was a warehouse a little south of where the current swarm was going over another building, and from the chatter over the radio, it had belonged to someone named Howard Stark. His briefing about Stark had only been a single sentence: the man had close ties to SHIELD and was not a priority target.

No picture of the man was shown to him, but he had seen a civilian with stark white hair lit up by the flashing red and blue lights being ushered into the building. The police had pushed Stark into the warehouse clearly against his will, but they had apparently found nothing suspicious of the sort.

Nevertheless, it didn't sit right with him – the police finding nothing of the sort in the warehouse owned by Stark. Most of it was only because they had spent less than five minutes canvassing the area before Stark had ordered them out. That was certainly not enough time for what he knew a standard sweeping maneuver to be, to cover the warehouse – not even a top-bottom sweep. Whatever Stark wanted to hide from the police was not his concern, but he had been sitting here for five minutes now, and Stark still had not exited the building. He would have thought that the man would have already shut off the lights and left after locking the doors.

His gut was telling him that something about the building and about Stark's movements within warranted him staying and observing. If he wanted to find the four interlopers, he needed to watch this Stark person, and he usually did not get 'gut feelings'. Analysis, interpretation of said observations, and cold hard facts given to him by Karpov and the others from the Red Room were what he trusted – not this.

Yet, he stayed.

The Winter Soldier carefully swung his sniper rifle forward, and brought it up to rest in its usual place against his body. He pointed it at the direction of the warehouse. As he peered through the scope, his right index finger rested lightly on the trigger, while his left reached up and lightly pushed a small button on the side of his scope. The night-vision setting switched to a thermal-infrared setting, and he curled his lips into a grim smile.

Stark was not alone in that warehouse; there were four others with him, and it looked as if they had been hiding there.

~~~

“Hello Mr. Stark,” Steve stated, trying his best to keep his voice from trembling and breaking down as he lied. “My name is Captain Steven Rogers, United States Air Force Intelligence. My friends and I seemed to have been transported to your world from another reality. We need your help to return.”

The silence that fell between Howard's surprised utterance of his name, and his declaration of who he was was incredibly uncomfortable – to the point where Steve began to feel a little worried. “Mr. Stark?” he asked, making an effort to continue to call Howard by his surname instead of his given name. He lowered his hands and took a step forward--

“Christ Almighty,” Howard swore, crossing himself before deciding to close the distance between them rather quickly. “It is you--”

Steve tried to take a few steps back to avoid being embraced by Howard, as he knew that his own will to keep this charade up would instantly collapse if Howard continued to greet him like an old friend. It was by the grace of good timing that Natasha's rather brusque, “Hey, get away from my brother, Stark,” halted Howard's actions.

He saw Howard's eyes flick over his shoulder and turned slightly to see Natasha and the others approach. “Brother?” Howard questioned, frowning.

“Yeah,” Natasha stated in a no-nonsense tone, stopping a step forward of Steve on his left while placing her hands on her hips. There was a disdainful look on her face as she flicked her eyes over at Steve, saying, “Told you, Steve. There was another one of you in this reality, just like there was one of Stark here.”

“Question is,” James spoke up, standing on the other side of Natasha, his tone equally skeptical, “can we trust this Stark? I mean the one in our reality was discovered to be a double agent, selling secrets to the Soviets--”

“I am _not_ selling secrets!” Howard vehemently denied, focusing his anger on James, before falling silent. “You... you're supposed to be dead, David,” Stark shakily stated, his anger completely gone and replaced by a half-horrified tone. “Y-you died... so many years ago...”

“I feel fine and alive,” James sarcastically shot back. “And my name is not David, it's James. Get it through your thick skull, Stark. We're from another reality.”

Steve wasn't sure that the venom and anger behind James's words were entirely false, but he knew he had to intervene before it got out of hand. This was not how he envisioned asking Howard for help. He didn't want to accuse Howard of anything, but he knew that it was a consequence of his own recklessness that Natasha and James reacted the way they reacted. He just didn't expect the two to be that openly accusatory.

“James, stand down,” he said, taking a step forward and holding an arm out towards the man. He didn't know exactly why or what James had issue with, with regards to Howard, but considering the rivalry between James and the other reality's Tony Stark, he could only suspect that it stemmed from that.

“So,” Natasha spoke up, breaking the brief moment of awkward silence, “why'd you kick those cops out? It wasn't even five minutes for them when you did so. People usually have things to hide when they kick the authorities out that quickly.”

“I'll believe your story if you believe mine,” Howard stated, glowering slightly again, “and you, Emily!” Steve saw him turn slightly to face Daisy, who was standing on his right, giving Howard a rather puzzled look. “You're supposed to be dead as well—why do you look like that, Emily?”

“Shit,” Natasha interrupted, sounding quite put out enough that Steve wasn't sure if it was really an act or for real.

He glanced over towards Daisy, but it was not until Daisy turned ever so slightly that Steve's eyes widened slightly – somehow, her photo-static veil had developed a small aberration. He did not remember seeing such an aberration before they had gone to sleep, but there was no way to pass off any sort of excuse with regards to the aberration. It definitely did not look like an injury of sorts, especially since it was sparking ever so slightly.

“Okay, so is there another one of me in this reality, Mr. Stark?” Daisy simply asked, removing her veil and pocketing it. “I'm Daisy Johnson. Not this Emily person you think I am.”

“What? No...” Howard began, his initial anger at being falsely accused, sliding into a flicker of horror, then straight into fascination at what Daisy had done. “Where... where... what _is_ that?”

“Tech from our reality that we're not sharing with you, Stark,” James stated. “So you going to believe us--”

“Guys, I think _he's_ here,” Daisy suddenly jumped in, as Steve saw her look up to her right and squint ever so slightly.

Steve's stomach turned to ice as he immediately stepped forward, roughly grabbing Howard by the arm and yanked him closer to Daisy, saying, “Keep an eye on him, Quake.”

“Sir,” she curtly answered.

“Wi-Nat,” he turned towards Natasha, catching himself from saying Natasha's call sign, “and Nomad, get us some cover – as thick as you can find.”

“Got it,” James and Natasha acknowledged at the same time, dashing off to try to find something that could hopefully slow down the bullets from the Winter Soldier's rifle, if and when he decided to take another shot at them.

Throughout all of this, he had ignored Howard's splutters, but it seemed that his friend had realized the gravity of the situation and had quieted down. “Mr. Stark,” he said, finally facing his old friend, “we need a way out of here. We got tangled up in whatever SHIELD was doing today at Gordon Park, and apparently attracted the wrong kind of attention that's worse than the police. Tell me there's a car or something you've got stored in here.”

Daisy was still looking in the direction she had sensed the vibrational hum of the metal arm, but she hadn't held up her hands yet to ward off any bullets. That still didn't cause Steve or Howard to relax, as Howard swallowed a few times before saying, “Far side of the warehouse, behind you and to the left.”

“Let's move,” he curtly stated, just as James and Natasha returned with what looked like a sleek carbon-fibre sheet.

Steve took the sheet from the two, noting that though it looked like carbon-fibre, it certainly wasn't material-wise – it was metallic-like. Whatever it was, he hoped that it would provide some form of deflection or cover, no matter how ridiculous it looked at the moment. Raising it over their heads, Natasha took Daisy's sidearm and fell to their six, while James took point. He heard and saw the man grumble slightly before removing his own photo-static veil, stowing it.

This was not the time to do such a thing, but Steve was not going to call James out on it, though it was Howard's whispered exclamation, “S-sergeant Barnes?”

“Christ, looks like I have a doppelganger here as well,” James muttered, moving forward a few steps in front of him, Howard, and Daisy. “It's Captain James Barnes, Stark. US Air Force Intelligence. I didn't go through four years of advanced military schooling to become a nom-com.”

“But you are supposed to be a dead doppelganger,” Steve heard Natasha murmur from behind them. “Both of you guys are dead in this world, if Stark's reaction is anything to say.”

“Uh... yes,” Howard said, as Steve glanced over to see him looking back and forth between him and James.

Steve could see the hope, the light in seeing old friends come back alive, begin to die a little as reality set in for Howard and he began to believe their lies, their stories, and their situation. A small ache bloomed within him, but there was no other way to do this – to get out of this situation. He couldn't tell Howard that it was Bucky who now apparently hunted them. He had to protect Howard, only to let his friend die on that cold December day in a few years. It was a horrible feeling--

“Take a left, and then right, Captain Barnes,” Howard's strangely calm voice shook him out of his thoughts, as he saw him reach into his jacket and pull out a small Walther. “Straight down this row and at the end on the right is a tarp covering a prototype vehicle that I was building.”

“Copy,” James curtly answered.

A few minutes later, they ended up in the area that Howard had indicated. Not once did Daisy react with her powers, nor did any of them hear a pinging shot echo through the warehouse and impact their cover. While Steve found it a little worrying, Natasha and James ripping off the tarp of the vehicle diverted his attention ever so briefly. Said vehicle was the size and shape that was crossed between a military jeep and truck, and was all black in coloring. There was an older version of SHIELD logo etched to the side that Steve recognized as the 1970's version of the logo.

Howard holstered his pistol back into his jacket and went to the back of the vehicle. He unlatched the tailgate and opened the doors, gesturing for them to get in. “SHIELD didn't want this vehicle – it didn't have all the bells and whistles that they needed, so it's been sitting here. It has a titanium chassis, five-inch plas-polymer plating at intervals, and a few other things that will stop a bullet. It should be good enough to get you guys out from here. I also have a few tricks up my sleeve to help you lose your tail.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, as the rest of his team climbed into the vehicle.

It was only after Howard had gotten into the driver's seat of the vehicle that Steve finally ditched the covering and climbed into the back. Locking and closing the tailgate and doors, they were plunged into darkness and the noise of an engine turning. Natasha had scooted towards the front and opened the slit between what looked to be a cockpit door between the cab and the rear, letting a small amount of light in.

However, as Howard moved the vehicle forward, she slid the tiny window closed again – better to not give any advantage to the Winter Soldier's uncanny accuracy and skills to shoot at any of them through the slit. The brief moment of light though, was enough for Steve to find some place to sit, and to take a quick look around. He had found it remarkably similar to a quinjet's layout, complete with the individual jump seats lining the back, instead of benches.

As the jeep-truck vehicle rumbled out and away, the four of them sat in tense silence. Steve could feel the turns and accelerations that Howard was engaging in, as the vehicle carried them through the city. He didn't know where they were going, but he had to trust Howard on this. He may have crushed his friend's hopes in seeing him and Bucky alive again, but he had to take comfort in himself that it was a step in the right direction – a step towards home.

“You can do this Steve,” he barely heard Natasha murmur over the noise, as he felt her slip her hand into his and give it a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

He wanted to say 'I know' to her, but he couldn't. He just couldn't continue to bring himself to lie even further. It was already frustratingly painful for him to do so and maintain it in front of Howard, even sitting in the back of this vehicle. The shock of seeing Howard, of interacting with him after so long was already gone, but he knew that he was somewhat of a hypocrite in trying to convince himself and the others that he was able to process the shock.

The slat between the rear and the cab suddenly slid open, as Howard asked, “So how exactly were you able to figure out that someone was after you?”

“Um, Mr. Stark,” Steve began, worried, as he scooted closer to the slat. “We should be maintaining no coms--”

“Relax,” Howard casually said, glancing back at them with a more calm and composed look. To Steve, it looked as if in the drive thus far, Howard had definitely come to terms with what was happening, and finally accepted their story in full without question. “There's no one pursuing us on radar or thermal imaging for the past two miles – at least not matching that profile I captured on our way out.”

“Radar and thermal imaging? For two miles?” James questioned, as the little light that spilled into the back afforded visual confirmation of their puzzled reactions. “What the hell kind of vehicle are we in?”

“I call it the quinjeep,” Howard said, a touch of pride in his tone. “SHIELD wanted something bigger and eventually asked for something airborne.” Steve saw him shrug, saying, “It figures. Everyone wants to fly and spy at the same time. No one thinks ground-based surveillance has any further tech to be developed.”

Steve thought he heard Natasha cough 'lies' in a near-whisper. However, he was not feeling humorous at all, as he asked, “You captured the image of our pursuer?”

“Only thermal,” Howard stated. “Nothing on the visible spectrum. Weird shape, but definitely human. So how did you guys know he was there?”

“Our reality has people who have certain... gifts,” James carefully stated after a few moments of silence. “Agent Johnson is one of them.”

“Okay,” Howard simply answered, surprisingly not pressing for more information as Steve had expected him to do. “I'm going to make a phone call to a person I trust. This is to further help you guys lose your pursuer before we head to a safe house. Then we'll figure out what to do after that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Steve said, feeling grateful, though it was not enough to wash away the guilt he felt. “Truly.”

His friend said nothing except to nod before he saw him reach over and pick up what looked to be a satellite phone. As soon as Howard dialed and connected, he heard him say, “Jarvis, I need you to take prototype 1A-QJ out of storage. Get Kurt, Jerome, Fredric, and John to ride in the back and meet me in Greenbelt.”

“Right away, sir,” came the surprisingly prompt, ever-polite reply of Howard's butler.

As soon as Howard disconnected the call, Steve saw him turn slightly towards them, saying, “Jarvis is a trusted friend. The other four are my security guards at the hotel I'm staying at in DC. They'll take the other prototype out, make the rounds, and meet us in Greenbelt. We're not switching cars, but if your pursuer somehow manages to track us to there, well, he's going to be quite confused. While Jarvis and my guards will be driving all over DC, we'll head back to the hotel. Shouldn't be too hard to try to sneak you guys in.”

Despite how old Howard looked, Steve couldn't help but smile slightly as he heard the voice of experience, of confidence, and of a vitality that he found he missed. His old friend was always arrogant, but never to a fault, and would never put any person's life in deliberate danger unless absolutely necessary. Howard had sheltered them thus far without incident, and did not press and demand information when he had every right to do so.

Steve would continue to trust his friend, hoping and praying that the lies he told would not catch up to him before this was over.

~~~

“ _So how did you guys know he was there?”_

“ _Our reality has people who have certain... gifts. Agent Johnson is one of them.”_

He continued to listen to the conversation that was happening inside of the armored vehicle as it wound its way through the streets of the city. However, even as he slowly stood up from the numbing crouch he had been settled in for the past hour, he did not attempt to move forward or continue to maintain the distance necessary to keep the range of the microphone device within the needed parameters.

It only took a few minutes more before the transmission fizzled out into static. He took the tiny earpiece out, sliding it back into a compartment as he slid the sniper rifle to settle against his back. Standing next to a smaller water tower, still hidden in the darkest of shadows cast by ambient light and the occasional helicopter's search light, his left hand curled ever so slightly into a fist.

He could not pursue the four, not with what he had heard from the two listening devices he had planted – one on the rooftop of the warehouse, the other on the vehicle. Both devices had been shot from his sniper rifle, landing in their respective areas without any of the five knowing the wiser. It seemed that this 'agent' that was named had a gift, device, or some ability of the sort to detect certain electronic frequencies As he uncurled his metal fingers, it was easy to point to the fact that his metal arm was the cause of that detection.

Reporting to his handlers, and requesting assets to aid him in his primary objective was priority now. It was extremely critical that he complete his mission within the parameters dictated by his handlers, and not get caught. He was now detectable by another means, and a physical disguise was not going to cut it. If Stark was to take the four anywhere near SHIELD headquarters within the next day, the assets would have to deflect and make sure that the four stayed out of his way, or were dealt with.

Mission failure for the Winter Soldier was never an option.

~~~

It was rapid footsteps and the calling of her name, “Director Carter,” that caused Peggy to pull away from her husband. Her eyes crinkled slightly in sympathy towards her husband; both of them knew that sleep would be elusive for them tonight, even after what they had tried to promise to each other.

She fully turned away from the window to the morgue and approached the agent, who had a folder tucked under his arm. “Agent Fury,” she curtly greeted.

“Ma'am,” Fury answered, silently handing over the folder, but did not leave just yet. That meant that Fury and his team had found something that required an immediate order to be given.

Peggy quickly perused through the findings, the frown already on her lips turning ever more downwards. What she read worried her. The fact that the same sets of partial footprints and cloth fibers had been found in both the Roxxon building, along with the rooftop site in which the snipers that stated they spotted four people people running, meant that there was something else going on other than the very public assassination of a Soviet asset. It also meant that the police reports were not entirely wrong about a 'sniper on the hotel rooftop', which caused her to become even more suspicious.

The message sent by the Widow's assassination by the young red-headed woman, and the fact that not one of her agents or law enforcement had found her yet, spoke volumes. She was as sure as her husband had stated that the Widow had been assassinated by someone cut from the same cloth as the Widow, and Dottie Underwood.

Rumors from the other side of the Berlin Wall swirled that the Soviets had a program of the sorts that produced agents of the highest calibre. The fact that the Black Widow had all but confirmed it with her husband during their first meeting had become the catalyst for some changes within SHIELD.

She had never wanted to implement it, but practicality had caused her and Colonel Philips, before he retired, to develop the STRIKE program back in the seventies. The four teams that came out of that program: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta, were the result of said implementation. All but Delta had seen action today, and all but one of the three had survived somewhat intact.

“Take your team, Agent Fury, and the first flight out to Berlin,” she stated, snapping the folder close. “Rattle some cages there, and see if anything turns up.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Fury nodded, giving barely any visible sign to her that he understood the true meaning of her orders. He simply turned and walked away.

It was only after Fury disappeared around the bend that her husband approached her, saying, “He's getting as good as you with the double-speak, Pegs.”

“He's better than me, Daniel,” she stated, looking down at the innocuous-looking folder in her hands. “If it weren't for the fact that he refused a leadership position within the Strike teams, he would have been an immense asset earlier today.”

“None of us could see her coming, Peggy,” her husband said. “We're lucky that she didn't try to assassinate you either.”

“I wasn't the target,” she stated, glancing over at him, knowing that his words were only to bring some modicum of comfort to her, however shallow it was. “You know that. You know that they were trying to make a statement.”

“And make it they did,” he breathed out, shaking his head slightly.

“The Soviet's Red Room Program...” she began, clenching the folder in her hands tightly for a moment before relaxing. “We need to find it... we need to find it, and destroy it before their agents destroy us.”

She gave the folder over to her husband, saying, “I'm sorry to do this to you, but can you follow up on the four suspects that were sighted while Agent Fury is gone? If the police reports have anything additional on the 'sniper on the rooftop' or the four, tell them that we'll handle it. I don't know what connection the four have to today, but I have a feeling that those four, asset agents to help that young woman or not, know something else about what happened today. If possible, we need to find them and bring them in before the other agencies can. We cannot allow them to escape.”

“I'll keep the cops going with their sabre rattling, minus their raids on Stark's warehouses,” he stated, accepting the folder from her. “But Peggy, I'm going to need to task more agents to sweep the nooks and crannies. These agents, and even the Widow's assassin are underground and most likely in safe houses that even we may not have permission to enter.”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “Task as many as you need, and keep it as legal as you can.”

* * *

_Later..._

 

“Feel better?”

Steve looked up and over, halting his action of drying his wet hair with the fluffy towel as he saw Howard leaning against the opposite wall, giving him a most neutral of looks. His friend also had his arms crossed over his chest and had shed the suit jacket that he had been wearing, though it didn't make him look any more relaxed.

“Yes,” he honestly answered, stepping fully out of the bathroom. “Thank you for letting us use the shower.” He briefly glanced down at the borrowed clothing before looking back up, continuing to say, “And for getting all of us something else to wear.”

Howard merely nodded before unfolding his arms, saying, “Your team... your friends are in the main room. I took the liberty of ordering some room service.”

Steve couldn't help but stare at him, utterly surprised at the length of generosity that his old friend was displaying, despite all that had happened thus far. “T-thank you,” he managed to say. “That is incredibly generous of you--”

Howard held up a hand, shaking his head for him to stop talking as he said, “It's all right. It was my pleasure to do so. If you don't mind me saying, I still am in partial disbelief of your story, but if the four of you are who you claim you are... well...” He paused, scratching the back of his head for a moment, the action reminding Steve of the same flustered gesture he had seen him perform during the war.

“I had a friend, a dear friend who looked exactly like you, minus that beard,” Howard continued after a moment. “His name was Steven Grant Rogers, a captain in the US Army who fought in World War Two. He... he died, sacrificing his life to save the world from a horrific evil. I would've liked to think that he inspired me to be a better person even before he died. After everything, if I can't show some decency to people in need, then I'd like to think that I wouldn't be able to face him in Heaven when I finally get there.”

Steve stared at him, feeling as if a knife had been twisted into his heart with Howard's words. He hated this, hated lying to his friend, and damn it all, he just wanted to reveal his true self – to give Howard hope, to see him laugh again. “I--” he began.

“I'm hoping to get the full story from all of you,” Howard continued, having not heard Steve's whispered near-confession. “But, judging from the way that young woman... Agent Johnson, tackled the food, I'm betting that you're starving at well.”

It seemed that Howard was not one to linger too much on the past, as Steve felt him slap his back, saying, “Come on, Steve-- you don't mind me calling you Steve, right? You can call me Howard.”

“I don't mind,” Steve answered, shaking his head slightly as he followed Howard back down the hall and to the main area of the suite.

Ahead, he saw that there was a small cart that was half full of food and drinks. Two empty plates that looked to have been cleaned were set to the side of a table. Daisy was sitting curled up on a recliner, her plate still in her hand, but it looked as if she was not diving into the remaining food on her plate with gusto. The quantum particle detecting device was in her hands, but she was merely examining it. Natasha had already finished eating and was sitting on the floor with several maps spread out before her. James was sitting at the small table, also done with his meal, and was cleaning the weapons.

“...if the device was actually pointing to the building,” James was saying, his head turned slightly towards Daisy, as both Steve and Howard entered.

“Hey, Steve,” Natasha greeted in a casual manner that was not like her usual greeting. “Still didn't shave that beard, eh? You know if mom were still alive, she'd say you'd look like a hobo.”

Improvisation was not his strongest suit, but working with Natasha all of these years taught him a thing or two. Getting some more training on how to put together a convincing story by his counterpart in the other reality also helped. Thus he answered as if Natasha was his actual sister, saying, “I like it.”

Surprisingly, at the same time he made his statement, James said, “It's sexy.”

Steve had to thank a combination of his ability to be nearly unfazed by curve ball questions thrown at him during his USO touring days, and what he knew about James to not react to the man's statement, except to shrug at Natasha. He also had to definitely thank Natasha for the lessons she had taught him, as he immediately understood the angle that James was playing at to further their story by differentiating themselves from their 'dead counterparts' here.

Yet it was still difficult for him to continue to lie, and further the lie, knowing that Howard was standing right next to him. It took all of his courage and then some more to muster the necessary words in reaction to James's statement, saying, “He likes it. It stays.”

It seemed that was enough for Natasha to pick up and continue to engage Howard. Her taking over the conversation and spin the story allowed him to continue past Howard and head over to where the food was. His appetite was completely gone now, but he knew he had to eat something. His super-soldier metabolism was able to survive a few days of undernourishment, but to not eat was to invite even more questions.

He made his way over to where Daisy was, perching himself next to her, even though there was an open seat adjacent to where James was. However, he knew better than to eat next to where weapons were being cleaned. He even let Daisy 'pick' at his food, even though her plate was not yet cleaned off. They had to act like a cohesive, close-working team, and Steve was doing everything he could think of to maintain at least that high-level of a cover story.

Though Howard occasionally flicked his eyes over towards him, as Natasha spun the story of their 'reality', with occasional input from either James or Daisy, Steve finally called him out on it after a few minutes. “Mr. Stark, is something the matter?”

The awkward laugh and back of the head scratching from Howard was something that Steve had anticipated, as it was almost second nature for him to see his old friend do in the rare times Howard was at a loss of words. What he didn't expect were the words that Howard said, saying, “I wish I could announce to the world that Steve Rogers was found and was not dead, but that wouldn't be fair to you, your team, or your reality. I wish you could stay here... make things right and help us, but I can't make you do that. This war your fighting in your world... the lengths all of you have gone to make sure you're not captured... your disguises... I have no right to take that from you, but...”

“All wars will end,” Steve found himself saying, “Though I don't know the details of what my counterpart did, it seemed that he inspired you. Hope comes from everywhere, not just one man, Mr. Stark. You have SHIELD here, and if it was anything that we've seen earlier in the day, your world is well protected.”

Howard was silent, but he was nodding to his words. Even though there was a bitter taste in Steve's mouth when he had made those statements, he forced himself to swallow through it. In a way, Steve tried to take some comfort that he was justified in his words – SHIELD would continue to protect the world for at least the next thirty years, until it too, sacrificed itself to bring HYDRA down.

“You all need to get home, return to your reality,” Howard murmured after a few moments. “I don't know if it is possible, but if you don't mind, I'd like to bring in a possible expert in whatever brought all of you here.”

“Go on,” Steve encouraged, half wondering who exactly was an expert in SHIELD during this time period regarding 0-8-4s. The stories that he had heard from Peggy about the various 0-8-4s that ended up causing headaches for SHIELD during her tenure never pointed to an expert in such devices.

“You guys are also better off staying here for now,” Howard continued, looking a little embarrassed. “If my reaction towards you Steve, and you, Captain Barnes, are anything to speak of, there's still quite a few people at SHIELD who knew both of your counterparts.”

“Are you sure it's safe to stay here, Stark?” Natasha asked, genuine in her question.

“Well, whoever that was, that was running around the rooftops, he's no where near the hotel. I just got word from my security that they're back. One of them will be staying in the prototype, keeping an eye on the radar and thermal,” Howard explained.

He paused for a moment, giving them a slightly puzzled look before saying, “I've done this sort of thing once before, and it worked against my enemies. I'm guessing by the accusations that you've leveled upon me, I wasn't as trustworthy of a fellow in your reality?”

“We... had a lot of enemies,” Steve spoke up before James could.

He could sense that if James continued to deflect, it would eventually implode on them. It should have been him leading the team, explaining things to Howard, even with the excuse of him eating. His brief taking over of the explanation would hopefully continue to alleviate Howard's suspicions about them.

“It was and still is difficult for any of us to trust those we don't know well...” he began, deliberately allowing that statement to trail off and allow Howard to come to his own conclusions.

“I understand the feeling,” Howard sympathized. “Believe me, I really do.”

“So who's your expert?” Natasha asked after a few moments of silence.

“Well, I can't exactly call at the moment, seeing that it's just a little after one-thirty in the morning. Normal people are sleeping, and we're in no great danger at the moment, so it would be best if I didn't call until a more reasonable hour.” In a more conspiratorial, but staged whisper, Steve heard him say, “It also gives me time to find a way to spin up a story about you guys so there's no repeat of what happened earlier tonight.”

Steve wanted to bark in laughter, the ease and familiarity of Howard's words and stance mirroring the memories he had of his friend. He refrained from doing so though, and instead swallowed the bitter pill of another lie, saying, “Thank you, Mr. Stark, for all of this, and for trusting us.”

* * *

Order and chaos ruled her life, and though it was always dependent on the situation, Natasha always managed to find something of a footing in either place. Being Fury's agent gave her a semblance of organization, but it was still nonetheless, as chaotic as her life had been before she had defected. However, since the Chitauri invasion, there had been one additional constant, one additional anchor in her life besides Clint Barton.

Steve Rogers.

Natasha had read the reports, crinkled and old as they were digitized into the system, watched the interviews that his surviving friends had given about him throughout the decades. She had not believed any of the stories, and found him a little too uptight and straitlaced when she had first met him. But slowly, like a glacier carving its way down a mountain, he had changed her world view – had given her something that she realized that she had lacked in life.

She developed an ideal to strive for.

Of course it wasn't the boy scout, justice, liberty, and freedom for all direction that Steve seemed to take himself off to, but it was something more personal. Natasha had a lot of red in her ledger, and while she knew that her service in SHIELD was an attempt to make up for that red, working with Steve seemed to erase that red a lot faster. Slowly, she began to believe what she had read; the stories were right – he inspired people to be better than they were. She began to see a light at the end of the black tunnel she was crawling through, that is, until the Sokovia Accords landed on the conference table.

Since then, that light at the end of her tunnel was slowly fading into darkness. She watched as her friend struggled to keep hope within himself, to continue to protect the Earth even as a fugitive, even when Humanity did not want him as their protector anymore. Steve was sometimes oblivious to just how his actions affected the others. Other times he was hyper aware of all of their actions, that even she had been unable to escape his simple questioning gaze that made her somewhat feel bad.

Still Natasha stuck by him, because even as wrought-to-despair as he had become, he still stuck to his ideals – still fought for liberty and justice. It was more than what could be said of Stark and the others who signed the Accord. The Avengers were dissolved, and the UN could not be bothered to form a committee whenever there was some trouble. They couldn't even be bothered to investigate any extraneous remnants of HYDRA – sending the beleaguered and stretched out ghosts of SHIELD to do their work instead.

Thus when she heard the tell tale soft groan issuing up from the far side of the room that the four of them were sleeping in, her eyes snapped open. That was the first sign of Steve's PTSD manifesting, that she and Sam always heard in the middle of the night. It signaled that both of them, and Wanda for the matter, were going to be in for a very long lack of sleep. None of them begrudged Steve for it though – they've all seen horrors in different wars and in recent times, Steve even more so.

Steve was an emotional wreck, and it didn't help anyone that he buried it deep and far; diving into keeping all of them safe as a way to escape his demons. While she wouldn't go as far to say that her friend was a mental wreck, there had been days where Natasha almost silently declared it so.

Steve's groan was so low that it didn't even wake Johnson, who was sleeping on one of the two twin beds. Thankfully, there was a door between the suite the four of them shared, and where Howard was sleeping. However, as Natasha got ready to get up from the floor without disturbing the others, movement out of the corner of her eyes on the left caused her to pause in her actions. She glanced over, slightly surprised to see the dark figure of Barnes silently getting up from where he was lying on the floor next to her.

She saw him silently pad over to Steve, who was lying on the other twin bed. It had taken a lot of cajoling and a little bit of blackmail to get Steve to take the other twin bed. With little fanfare, and a lot more gentleness and care that she didn't expect him to display, he hefted Steve ever so slightly to not wake him up. Just as fluidly, she saw him settled himself onto the bed, sitting and shifting Steve so that Steve was settled against him.

Curious, as she knew that what she had observed the man do in the past day-and-a-half and from what she had discerned about his motive for being here, she got up. Approaching, she saw him pin his glittering dark eyes on her, as she sat down at the end of the bed. He didn't move an inch and continued to watch her, even as Steve continued to sleep obliviously on.

“I shouldn't be here, Romanov,” he suddenly stated, subvocalizing his words to her. “It shouldn't be me who is worrying about how Steve is doing – how he's coping with being here.”

Natasha didn't say—couldn't say a word in response to his words. All she could do was watch as Steve settled down into a more peaceful expression, faster than she had ever seen him do. A part of her wanted to blame the fact that Steve seeing Howard again was the cause of the easement of the beginning of his nightmare, but she knew that it was not even close to the truth. The man sitting before her, holding Steve as protectively as she had done countless of times, was the sole cause of Steve not waking up screaming tonight.

“It shouldn't be me,” she heard Barnes repeat, looking torn and yet, still did not let go.

Normally, Natasha would have scoffed at such words, especially coming from the man whose one incarnation terrified her, and the other, fascinated her. Yet, here and in the now, faced with the reality that Steve was just as human as the rest of them, and what she had seen since Berlin Airport, she could only feel a pang of genuine sympathy. She knew that there was nothing she could do to mentally help Steve with his issues, except to be there as a sounding board. She also tried to calm him down whenever a nightmare struck.

“I'll talk to him in the morning,” she said after a moment.

Barnes was right – it really shouldn't be him holding Steve, calming him down. The relationship between Steve and the Winter Soldier named James Buchanan Barnes was already quite complex. Crossing the admiration, crush, love – whatever it was that this Barnes felt for Steve – of other realities' people did not need to add to that complexity. Barnes was well aware of that, but it seemed that the gravitational pull of Steve Rogers was not limited to the greater ideal that everyone around him seemed to strive for.

Getting up from where she had been perched, she silently made her way over to the other side of the bed and lifted up the covers. Slipping into the bed, she first draped it over Steve, giving Barnes some of the slack so that he could cover himself with the blanket, before curling up. She pressed her back up against the peacefully slumbering form of Steve, and closed her eyes.

In less than a few seconds, she was asleep.

* * *

Morning had come rather too quickly, in Steve's opinion. He had woken up in the most awkward position, and definitely not in the position he had fallen asleep in. Wedged in between Natasha and James, he had woken up in a strange tangle of limbs under blankets. He had been leaning against James's chest with James having draped his left arm around him, while Natasha had been curled up against his left side. It had caused him to flush beet red, even though not one piece of clothing from any of the three of them had been removed. Never in his dreams had he ever imagined something like this happening to him.

While he had almost been lulled back to sleep with his ear pressed against James's chest, listening to the man's steady heartbeat, the awkwardness of the situation had kept him awake. Steve's attempt to discreetly remove himself from the tangle had only caused Natasha to wake up and slyly smile at him. She had said nothing except to slip out from under the covers, finally giving him the necessary wiggle room to get out from under the blankets. He had been sure that he had not woken James up as he had edged out and finally got up.

Natasha had then taken a seat at the table where the disassembled weapons were still laid out, and had begun to methodically put them back together. Therefore, Steve had taken the option to clean himself up first in the bathroom. He had not been in there for more than a minute when he heard the low voices of James and Natasha talking, and of Daisy waking up. When he had returned, thankfully, neither mentioned anything about the awkward position the three of them had been in.

For that, Steve had been immensely grateful. Though he was still curious as to how exactly he had gone from laying down to sleep on the bed by himself, to whatever the hell he had woken up in, he refrained from asking. Some things were better left unsaid and unasked than stated.

At the present though, the four of them were awake and were listening to Howard talk on the satellite phone to whomever was the 'expert' in 0-8-4s. The door to the suite that Howard slept in was open, and they could see him pacing back and forth, though not once did Howard mention the name of his contact. Steve could see that there was a slightly frustrated look on his friend's face, but considering the pacing, it was a sign that he was making headway into convincing whomever was the 'expert' to come here.

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

Steve glanced over to see Natasha looking up at him expectantly. Her question was not a request but an order. The mild expression on her face did not belay anything as to what she wanted to talk about in private, but he had a feeling that it was not about this morning's strangely intimate wake-up tangle. Without even waiting for him to answer, she gestured for the two of them to head into the bathroom.

He silently followed her, and it was only after she had firmly shut the door behind her that he asked, “What?”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Rogers?!” she hissed, keeping her voice and tone low. “You don't lie, you can't lie, and yet here you are, trying to lie your ass off in front of Howard Stark no less.”

“Isn't that--” he began, managing to keep his indignation to a whisper as well.

“I'm not done yet,” she continued, glaring at him with venom in her eyes. “Leave the lies to Barnes and I, Rogers. Your self-destructive behavior is doing us no favors--”

“I am _not_ self-destructive--”

“Yes you are!” she whispered, her tone harsh as she took a step forward that forced him to take a step back – enough that the back of his shins bumped up against the bathtub. “Stark may have said whatever pretty words he's said to assuage you, but he's not buying the bullshit. He's helping us because of you – because he still thinks it's really you come back from the dead. If you can't read that from him, you're done. Stop hurting yourself, and for the team's sake, stop hurting him. Shut up and let us do what we do best, Rogers! This is not your call, it's ours.”

“So then what the hell am I supposed to do?!” Steve answered, cold anger building within him. He could not believe what was coming out of Natasha's mouth. After everything they had gone through, he thought he had her trust and confidence, and she had his. “Am I supposed to continue to watch you feed lies to him--”

“Yes,” she said, taking a step back and folding her arms across her chest, continuing to glare at him. “That's what you're supposed to do. I don't care of you like inflicting pain on yourself or not, but This is _not_ your area of expertise. Stand down, soldier.”

Steve remained silent, clenching his jaw for a few moments as he glared at her. He knew that she was right on some accounts, and wrong about others, but hearing her say all of those words hurt. He wanted to argue, to continue to deny her words, but the words fled from his mind, as he wondered why she had decided to bring this up now and not earlier. They had had plenty of time back in the first safe house to air out their grievances against this plan, even if his impulsive decision to enlist Howard's help was not quite a part of it.

Instead, he quietly asked, “Why are you doing this now, Nat?”

Steve held Natasha's gaze for a moment before she looked away, the corner of her eyes crinkling slightly. He couldn't tell what that gesture meant, but as quickly as she had turned her gaze from him, she returned it after a few moments. “I don't want your lies to catch up with you, Steve,” she answered just as quietly.

“This is your friend here. Sooner or later, if Howard is talking to who I suspect over that sat phone, Director Carter will get involved. These lies, this other reality story... it's more likely to blow up in our faces than it will be believed, even if we find that 0-8-4 to get back. I don't know them, and Barnes certainly doesn't. Let this blow back into our faces, not yours, Steve. Your friends, the people you love – let them find some closure with the good memories they have of you.”

“And let you and James destroy Bucky's reputation and the memories they have of him?” he questioned. “No--”

“You know how he operated during the war, Steve,” she said, uncrossing her arms, taking a step forward again. “You said so yourself that you realized just how spy-like he was. If Carter remembers anything about Sergeant Barnes, she'll know and understand why Captain Barnes is doing what he's doing to protect the team.”

Silence fell between the two of them; uncomfortable and almost unbearable. Yet, Steve could not find any words to argue against Natasha's logic. It was expertly laid out in front of him, and he could not find fault in it. She was right – no matter how much they tried to keep it only to Howard, Peggy was sure to become involved sooner rather than later. It had been their aim after all – to get SHIELD's attention to find a quick way home.

“Steve,” Natasha said after what felt like a few minutes, her voice still at a whisper. There was no accusatory anger in her eyes anymore as she looked up at him. “You told me you made a promise to the Winter Soldier, to Sergeant Barnes, to your Bucky.” She reached out and placed her palm on the center of his chest, but did not put any pressure behind it. “I may not know what it is, but please don't break that promise.”

_Forward and together, until the end of the line._

She took a step back, removing her hand and turned around. Silently, she exited the bathroom, leaving him there, staring at her retreating back and adjacent door. She was right – this was not his area of expertise at all, and she had easily read him like a book. She knew what she was doing, and what points to press to get him to agree with, and despite himself, Steve now completely agreed with her.

* * *

“Howard's at it again?”

Peggy looked up from where she was staring at the satellite phone to see her husband enter with a stack of folders. She placed the phone down on her desk, looking at it with some disdain as she went over to help her husband with the folders.

“Yes,” she answered. “He wants to change the meeting location, citing that the police raided one of his warehouses last night, and that he managed to recover four 0-8-4s before another raid can happen.”

“I called them off, Peg,” her husband stated, looking at her with some concern. “Honest-to-God, I used every single bit of influence and contacts I had to get them off of Stark's back.”

“This was before I gave that order,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “It's not your fault, so don't worry. Howard had enough of a temper and influence to get them out of the warehouse before they could find anything untoward.”

“But...” he began.

“But, it seems that he 'rescued' four 0-8-4s from the warehouse.”

“Rescue?” her husband asked, looking a little puzzled. “As in stray cats or something?”

“Knowing Howard, and knowing what 0-8-4s can do, I suspect that perhaps they're alien cats?” she said, smiling slightly. In a more serious tone, she said, “It's a strange coincidence that Howard's 'rescued' four 0-8-4's after what happened, don't you think?”

“I'll take Strike Delta with me, Peggy,” her husband answered, nodding in understanding. “Don't worry, we'll get Howard out of there safely. Engineering should have some devices that could potentially neutralize whatever the four are.”

“Thank you, Daniel,” she said, closing the distance between them and clasped hands with him, unable to keep the worry for her husband's safety out of her tone. There was no other she trusted at the moment to undertake this mission though. “Please, be careful.”

* * *

The knock on the hotel door was expected, though the delay in response from his handlers after he had sent his transmission last night was unexpected. It had only been a half-hour ago that he had received modified orders and the request for asset help confirmed. He waited until the footsteps at the door left, and after another thirty seconds of waiting, he approached and opened the door.

A package in a rather garishly colored shopping bag had been left, but it didn't matter. He picked it up and brought it in. Dumping the contents onto the bed, he quickly stripped himself of his current gear and began to don the ones within the shopping bag. It was only after he hooked up the earpiece to his ear, and turned the radio to the frequency that was dictated by the transmission, that he picked up the last piece of his new disguise.

It was a helmet, black in color, with a fully polarized HUD visor-like goggle that went over his eyes. The thick, banded chin strap was enough to partially hide his jawline, but no one would be paying close enough attention to him anyways. Placing it on, he adjusted the last bits and pieces of the SHIELD Strike team uniform on him and deposited his previous uniform and its accouterments back into the shopping bag. An operative would be by later to pick it up and hide it away in another safe house.

As he flexed his gloved left metal hand and black-fatigue covered arm, he stepped out of the safe house and into the halls of the hotel. SHIELD Strike Delta, a team that was secretly loyal to the motherland's cause, needed some additional firepower to respond to what had been termed: a potential 0-8-4 incursion situation, with four bogeys.

It was a most opportune situation for the Winter Soldier to take out both his target and the four intruders.

* * *

“Your expert is here, Stark,” James's blunt statement in the silence that had engulfed the main area of the suite caused Steve to look up, starting slightly. James was standing by the window, peering through the sheer curtains that hung along the window, arms crossed over his chest.

“Ah, finally--” Howard began, getting up from where he was sitting.

“There's a tac-team with him,” James immediately followed up, causing Natasha to push off from where she was leaning against the adjacent wall and go over to the window.

Just as Steve was about go over to get a good visual of the incoming potential threat, it was Daisy's strained exclamation, saying, “Yeah, they're carrying something that making me hear ringing in my ears. I can literally feel it like that buzzing electronic feedback from _that_ guy.”

“Is _that_ guy here?” Natasha immediately asked.

At the same time, Howard had asked, “Him?”

However, that question passed rather quickly as Steve saw realization over take him, as he turned and went towards the door, saying, “Ah, crap. I knew that she would send him instead of coming herself. She probably thought that my mention of the four of you in an oblique manner alluded to some hostage situation or something.” Howard's muttering devolved into incoherent utterances as Steve silently confirmed that it had been Peggy that Howard had been talking to over the satellite phone earlier.

“Tac-team is not taking up what I would normally deploy for a hostage situation,” James stated, as Steve looked back to see him glancing away from the window, with a puzzled look on his face. “They're entering the hotel through the front.”

“Okay, let me take care of this,” Howard called out from down the hall. “Stay there, you four, and whatever happens, don't come out.”

“Mr. Stark--” Steve began, unable to keep himself from needing to go help his friend.

“Stay there, Steve,” Howard said, waving an arm at him. “Just, please. Stay there. Peggy's Strike teams are not people who will hesitate in any situation. They're the best of the best of SHIELD, and... just let me deal with it.”

It was not Howard's explanation of what a Strike team did in situations that looked bad, that stopped Steve from approaching, but rather the fact that Peggy of all people, had been the one to authorize the creation of the Strike teams. He was not given much time to process that, as Daisy's quick but still strained confirmation, saying, “I don't think _that_ guy is here, but man, that buzzing frequency is really irritating.”

“So that's how the Strike teams were formed,” Natasha murmured, having approached without him hearing her.

“Peggy's reading the situation incorrectly,” he softly said, grimacing, as they saw Howard open the door and poke his head out. “But I don't blame her for reacting like this. The police must have found something or traced us.”

The far away ding of an elevator was heard and a few moments later, they could hear Howard say, “Agent Sousa, the situation is contained. Call Strike... Strike whatever they are down. I'm not being held against my will!”

“You sure about that, Howard?” the agent named Sousa stated, his voice becoming ever louder and clearer the closer he and the Strike team approached.

“Yes,” Howard said, sounding quite annoyed.

“Then code in,” Sousa demanded.

“Finch,” Howard stated without hesitation.

Steve let go of the breath he had been unconsciously holding as he heard Sousa say, “Strike, remain here but stay alert. Lead, make the call into command ops and tell them that Stark has coded in. I'm going in to see what the hell these 0-8-4s are.”

There was the faint acknowledgment of the order by the Strike team members, and it was only Natasha's tug on the sleeve of his clothes that Steve reluctantly pulled away from his half-step down the hall. He followed her back to the main area of the suite, hearing Howard and the lead agent enter, and the door close behind them. Their murmurs, especially Howard's insistent caution and preparation of the agent were heard. It was not enough though, to prepare the agent, as Steve saw Howard enter the main room first, followed by a man who looked to be just a little younger than Howard's age of sixty-three.

“Oh, God,” Agent Sousa stated, stopping at the threshold and stared at them with wide eyes.

~~~

The Winter Soldier raised his left hand while keeping his right hand gripped on the rifle and index finger on the trigger. The others of the Strike team readied their rifles ever so silently, using the buzz-hum of the device that had been procured from SHIELD Engineering as a cover. The first person within the team approached the door to not bash it in with a kick, but to knock on the door.

Strike Delta's leader had stated that orders superseding his own had stated that Howard Stark was to come to no harm. That was a snag, and the only way they could get the man out now was to concoct a situation to drag the man away from the room. Stark's bodyguards were already on ground level, keeping curious civilians from approaching the floor, so it was only a simple matter of sending the man down to them.

All four interlopers and his primary objective were in the suite. It was a perfect set up and blame situation where the Strike team would be able to cover for his mission, and their own. It was in a public enough of a place that the message would be sent and received by SHIELD, as per his handlers' orders. All they had to do now was get Stark away from the line of fire, and kill the remaining five in the suite.

The Winter Soldier flicked his left index finger ever so slightly, giving the 'go' signal.

 

~*~*~*~

 


	5. Everything Will Be Inspected, No Exceptions

 

**Chapter 5: Everything Will Be Inspected, No Exceptions**

 

“Oh, God.”

Agent Sousa didn't look familiar to Steve, but he was apparently friendly or familiar enough with Howard to address him by his given name. Even as the agent stood still, trying to recover from the shock of his life, Steve noted that his stance was guarded and alert – the man was a veteran of carrying out operations, perhaps even of the war. The agent's sidearm had not been holstered, and neither had it been safed. Sousa clearly came in here expecting the worst case scenario.

“Agent Sousa,” he said, breaking the silence and stepping forward, extending a hand out. “You must be the expert in 0-8-4s that Mr. Stark here was talking about. Captain Steve Rogers, Air Force Intelligence.”

Thankfully, the agent had retained at least some modicum of politeness and safed his sidearm, holstering it before taking and shaking his hand. “Uh... yeah... Um, Daniel Sousa.”

Letting go, he gestured to the others, saying, “I'm not sure what Stark said to you in the hall, but this is my team: Captain James Barnes, also with Air Force Intelligence. Daisy Johnson, tech specialist, and Natalie Rogers, my sister.”

“Sister?” Sousa questioned.

“Guess you didn't have a sister in this reality, Steve--” Natasha began when a rather loud, ear-piercing screech filled the air before three beeps followed after it.

“Ack! Finally!” Daisy exclaimed as Steve couldn't help but rub his ears slightly as they all turned towards the source of the noise. The Inhuman agent pulled the quantum sensing device from where it had been attached to her waist belt, it thankfully did not screech again. “Huh,” was all Daisy said, before shoving the device forward for Steve to take.

He did so, and frowned ever so slightly as he stared at the coordinates. They were not of the Triskelion at all, but it were still located within DC. Before he could say a word, the phone in Howard's room rang in a shrill manner. Howard frowned and excused himself, going back into his bedroom to pick up the phone. Just as they heard him greet the person on the other end with a curt answer, a knock at the door sounded.

“Agent Sousa,” the muffled voice of what Steve could only presume to be Strike Delta's leader, said through the door. “One of Mr. Stark's bodyguards is asking for him.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sousa began, turning to head back down the hall.

Before the agent could take two steps down, Howard popped his head back out of the bedroom, hand clutched over the speaker with the cord extended quite a bit, hissing, “Daniel! Stop!”

Steve was instantly on guard, as were the others, as Howard vigorously shook his head, at Sousa. The agent had stopped, turned slightly back towards Howard and frowned. It was a signal of sorts between the two, one that Steve did not entirely understand the meaning, but the intent was enough. “Give Stark a few, Lieutenant!” Sousa shouted down the hall.

As soon as Sousa rejoined the circle, Howard had returned and reconfirmed to whomever was on the phone, saying, “Got it, and thanks Jarvis. Keep John and the others at station, and I'll let our guests know.”

The wait was brief for Howard to hang up the phone and return to the main room, saying, “Jarvis took over the morning shift a couple of hours ago to watch the thermal-infrared radar in the quinjeep. He just confirmed a near-match to whomever is pursuing you and your team, Steve.”

“Oh, shit--” Daisy began.

“And that person is hiding among your Strike Delta out there, Daniel,” Howard continued.

~~~

Mission status: snag.

It was not the fact that he and the others in the hall had heard the SHIELD agent named Sousa shout the delay of Howard, but the fact that with each passing second, his gut feeling was telling him that something was wrong. It was that same gut feeling that had told him to throw the knife at the light-haired woman two nights ago to warn her of incoming trouble. It was that same feeling that told him to observe the warehouse belonging to Stark last night. It was something he found unusual and disconcerting, as this mission was already unusual beyond the scope of a public assassination. 'Gut feelings' usually did not intrude or manifest, but he had to acknowledge that it had helped him thus far.

Now, it helped him again as he heard the ever faint, almost indiscernible creep of a clicking pair of footsteps within the building's emergency stairwell. The footsteps belonged to a well-heeled individual, signifying the excess wealth of the Americans, judging from the gait, weight, and noise. He glanced back towards the elevators, and the four clocking mechanisms that signified what floor the elevators were on, also confirmed that gut feeling. All four elevators had suddenly begun to descend towards the first floor.

Tapping the shoulder of the nearest member of Strike Delta, he silently indicated the snag protocol, and got a single nod of acknowledgment in return. Quickly and silently slipping away from the team, he pushed open the door to the emergency stairwell as quietly as he could. The heel noise was definitely louder, more cautious, and paused for a few seconds – whomever was down three floors below where he was, was listening carefully.

He was quieter, as he silently slipped out and shut the door. Climbing several stairs at a time, he made it up to the rooftop, just as the clicks of the heeled person ascended to the floor where he had been. A pause from the person several floors below him in the stairwell caused him to pause in opening the rooftop door. It was a short pause though, and as the person opened the door to the floor, he too synced his opening of the rooftop door, and slipped out.

~~~

The knock at the door startled all of them, but it was the familiar voice of Howard's butler, Jarvis, that came immediately afterwards, saying, “Sir, the coast is clear. Strike Delta has been sent down stairs to be processed by other members of SHIELD.”

“On who's orders?!” Sousa demanded, forgoing caution and immediately headed down the hall with his weapon held high and at the ready. None of them, including Howard even got to take a few steps forward to stop the agent, before Sousa yanked open the door.

“On mine.”

A swooping sensation, so unlike the first time he had set eyes on Peggy Carter, briefly fluttered up in his stomach. The only difference between the first time and now was the fact that ice accompanied that sensation, settling and spreading in his stomach. Sounds around him fell ever so briefly like he was underwater – muddled and incomprehensible. It was only the sensation of Natasha clasping her hands around his left hand and gently squeezing it for a brief moment, that brought him back out of the fugue he had fallen into.

“Peggy?!” Sousa exclaimed, which was followed immediately by, “What are you--?”

“Pegs,” Howard cut in, waving to the four of them to stay where they were as he too, headed down the hall and to the entrance. “You really shouldn't--”

“I was in the area, Daniel, Howard,” Steve heard Peggy answer, calmly and in a no-nonsense manner. “The reports collated by the police, the agents, along with your report, Howard, pointed to activity regarding the Black Widow's assassination in the vicinity of your warehouse. Mr. Jarvis was kind enough to inform me of the new situation brewing here--”

“Peggy,” Howard began again, as Steve only heard the shuffling of sounds at the entrance, and dared not peer out.

None of the others on his team moved either, but there was a grim look on James's face, while Daisy sported more of a grimace. Only Natasha looked completely unfazed, though Steve did not miss the brief sympathetic look she had thrown him in the brief interim. It was not that he was terrified – it was just hearing Peggy again, alive, not as frail as she had been in the last few years of her life – it was overwhelming. Peggy's tone, even her actions in marching in with help into a dangerous situation, such as this, flooded him with the memories.

“Peggy, I've not been taken hostage—”

“I can see that, and I heard you code in, Howard,” Peggy answered. “The agents below are under orders to keep Strike Delta where they are, and to keep it routine--”

“No, no, you don't get it Pegs,” Howard interrupted. “Whoever is pursuing the four 0-8-4s I have here is dangerous. We had to use that sheet of titanium-carbide armor that I was developing for Project 51 to protect ourselves, and get _out_ of the warehouse! Your agents--”

“Howard,” Sousa surprisingly intervened. “Have some faith in our agents, will you? Whomever the guy was who infiltrated Strike Delta is most likely contained by Strike Delta. You know the Strike teams will never take kindly to being deceived by one of their own. We have agents surrounding this guy. He's not going anywhere--”

“Actually, sirs, and ma'am,” Daisy spoke up loudly, still grimacing, “I think he might be gone.”

The silence that fell between the three at the entrance was palpable, but it was Peggy who asked, “And how is it that you know?”

“Peggy,” Sousa immediately spoke up before Daisy could answer. “You might want to brace yourself. This is not the usual 0-8-4 situations that we've gotten into before.”

“There is absolutely nothing usual about any 0-8-4, Daniel,” Steve heard Peggy say, as their footsteps approached. “Mr. Jarvis, if you would please, ensure that no one interrupts us.”

“As you wish, ma'am.”

Steve took a deep breath himself and even though Sousa's comment was directed at Peggy, he felt that he himself needed the same brace preparation. He only had a second to prepare as Howard, Agent Sousa, and Peggy crossed the threshold and into the main room. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes immediately focus on Peggy: older, with salt-and-pepper hair coiffed in elegance, and dressed practically. Her sidearm was holstered, but there was still the same sharp, bright look in her eyes that he remembered from long ago.

“Oh my stars,” was all she said, as Steve saw her stop at the threshold, mouth partially agape, her eyes locked onto his.

It was James who broke both him and Peggy out of their reverie, cutting it short enough that Steve felt as if he had been virtually slapped on the cheek by James. The man strode forward with his hand extended for a handshake, his actions causing Peggy to glance over, eyes widening a little further. It was only when James stated, “Director Carter, I presume? Captain James Barnes, Air Force Intelligence. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Uh, yes,” Peggy said, managing to recover. “Peggy Carter. Yes, I am the Director of SHIELD.”

“Um, Captain Barnes, how did you know Peggy was the Director of SHIELD?” Howard questioned, frowning slightly. “I don't recall telling any of you that yesterday.”

“Our reality also has Director Carter as our head of SHIELD,” James stated. “She looks just like you, except I think she may be about ten to fifteen years younger than you, Director Carter. It's good to see that this reality isn't as twisted and upside down as some of the other ones we've traveled to before.”

_Forward and together until the end of the line._

Steve didn't know what it was; whether it was James's casual statements and introduction, or the fact that Howard had also inadvertently deflected and given him a few moments to recover from his shock, or even the strange echo of his and Bucky's renewed promise to each other within his mind, but it was just enough. He made a promise, he made a choice, and as much as it tore his heart to not remain here and to spill the truth to Peggy, he couldn't.

“Sorry about that,” he forced himself to say in as casual of a tone as he could manage, imitating the same gesture as James had done. “Captain Steve Rogers, also with the Air Force Intelligence.”

He didn't fault Peggy for not immediately reacting to his gesture, but continued to hold out his hand, somehow managing to smile slightly at her as she stared at him. It was only Sousa's nudge and whisper of Peggy's name that seemed to catapult her out of her own fugue. “Forgive my manners,” Peggy said, looking embarrassed and sheepish at the same time as she returned the handshake.

Steve was careful to not engulf his hand over her own, wanting to just pull her into him and embrace her tightly. It was through the strength of Natasha, James, and even Daisy by his side, that he managed not to break down right then and there, and confess that he was who Peggy thought he was. He wanted to see her and Howard smile again, to not see them serious, in danger, and only years away from incidents that would change lives forever. He wanted—but it was selfish.

Somehow, he manage to let go of Peggy's hand, and step back from her without incident, allowing Daisy and Natasha to introduce themselves. It was only because he knew what to look for in all of Peggy's actions that he caught the barely perceptible narrowing of her eyes as she swept over Natasha's features. His moment of concern that Peggy would object or identify Natasha as the older version of the new Black Widow passed, as the look on Peggy's face was schooled back into a more neutral, if not polite expression. That helped him continue to rebuild and solidify his resolve to return home, to return to his time, though the tides of memories still tried to break down the walls.

“So,” Peggy manage to say, as Steve saw her abort her habit of brushing the front of her skirt whenever slightly nervous or uncomfortable.

Her eyes though, he didn't blame her for focusing her eyes elsewhere and not on him. As much as he wanted to drink in her vitality, impose it on his memories, create new ones, he knew that he was making her uncomfortable. It pained him, but he knew that he had to do it for himself as well, and thus took a step further away.

Thankfully, either Howard was oblivious to the true meaning of Steve's gesture, or was canny enough to sense that 'both' realities had something going on between Peggy and him, Steve really didn't care. “Let's gather at the table, ladies and gents,” Howard said. “I have some route maps ready, and whatever your device says about the 0-8-4 that transported you here, we'll need to figure a way to get you guys to it.”

“Good idea,” Sousa followed up.

The migration to the center table within the main room was only a few steps, but before Steve could follow the group, he felt James clasp a hand around his left forearm, tugging him slightly in a silent indication to stay for a moment. “Steve, let us do the talking,” James stated so softly that Steve had to lean slightly towards him to hear him.

“I know,” he answered, glancing over and nodding. There was more that he wanted to say, and he could see it in James's body language that he too wanted to say more than what was stated. However, neither could engage in a private conversation at the moment – there was still much to be discussed as a group with the others.

James let go of his arm, and instead of leaving him to walk the few short steps to the table, looped and arm around his shoulders. Steve was pulled close as he was propelled forward, the gesture achingly familiar enough to what Bucky used to do quite often. It was another brick in the new wall of his resolve to return home, and he was grateful for it. The same gesture and maneuvering also gave James a chance to slot himself between Peggy and him at the table, but Steve was not going to complain. Had he stood next to Peggy, he was sure that his resolve would have instantly collapsed.

“Before we discuss the route, and whatever that is in your hand, Steve—Captain Rogers--” Peggy began.

 _'It's all right, you can call me Steve'_ , he wanted to say, but refrained from saying it. He had already made his mistake in allowing Howard the liberty to use his given name when he shouldn't have. Instead, he forced himself to put Daisy's device down onto the center of the table so that its blinking coordinates were visible to all.

“This device shows us where the 0-8-4 that brought us here, is,” he began. “Daisy can explain more about it.”

“Understood,” Peggy answered, nodding once, masking the slip that she had made with his name. “But as I said, before we discuss the route, the device, and just how the four of you got here, I'd like to know more about who is pursuing the four of you. Howard explained over the phone that it seems that the four of you were observing the happenings in Gordon Park.”

“We were hoping to contact you directly, Director,” James picked up on the story. “It's no slight on your agents, but given that we're also SHIELD, we managed to pick up on chatter that something was going down in Gordon Park. We thought that if we got the agents' attention after the operation, SHIELD might bring us in and help us get back. What we didn't anticipate was that firefight, along with both being pursued by DC police and by someone quite dangerous.

“Which brings me to my original question, how do you know that this pursuer of yours is gone?” Peggy asked.

“Well,” Daisy began, before gesturing to Sousa, saying, “if you and your Strike team could turn whatever the hell you're carrying off, it might make my explanation a little less... irritating.”

“They're not radioactive, Daniel,” Howard quipped ever so slightly, relieving some of the tension in the room. “The quinjeep had scanners for that as well, and it didn't set off the alarms. Besides, I think you're hurting our guests with whatever the hell infernal device R&D cooked up this time. Without my approval, I might say.”

“Uh, sorry,” Sousa apologized, fiddling with the small dial-like device attached to his tac-vest. A few moments later, the agent said, “That better?”

“A little, though having your Strike team turn their devices off would definitely be better,” Daisy answered, nodding as she looked a little more relieved. “But this'll do for now.” She raised her hand ever so slightly above the table and a corner of the maps. A faint hollow-ringing sound filled the air as Steve and the others saw the map and the air directly below her hand move ever so slightly.

“I can feel and manipulate different frequencies,” Daisy said, cutting her demonstration off and lowering her hand. “Of our pursuer, I can 'sense' him, if you put it that way. The devices you and your team were wearing, Agent Sousa, were interfering with my ability, but as soon as Mr. Stark alerted us to the danger, I concentrated in trying to split and differentiate between the frequencies. I can't sense him anywhere near by. He's gone...for now.”

“The sooner we get to where the device is pointing us to the 0-8-4, the better,” James stated. “I don't know who the hell is pursuing us, but he tried to kill us. We arrived here _without_ pursuers. We don't want to go back dragging a pursuer with us.”

“Unmarked rifling,” Steve heard Peggy murmur, and a cold feeling began to grow in his stomach. Surely—

“What was that, Peggy?” Howard asked.

“SHIELD found three unmarked sniper rifle bullets on the rooftop where the snipers had stated they saw people – the four of you – fleeing,” Peggy spoke up, frowning. “Analysis came back early this morning. Soviet slugs... Howard, can you give me a rough sketch of what the thermal-infrared image looked like? I wasn't able to go to the garage to see what Mr. Jarvis saw before coming up here.”

“Uh sure,” Howard said, taking a pen and pad paper from a lamp stand next to a recliner and roughly sketched out the image that had been captured on the quinjeep's system.

“Pegs?” Sousa questioned.

“The Black Widow's assassination yesterday, and these four showing up are two circumstances that happened to unfortunately collide with each other,” Peggy stated, as Steve glanced over at Natasha to see that she was sporting the most uninterested look on her face. Even her body language said that she was uninterested, but when her eyes flicked ever so slightly at him, Steve read the absolute concern in them.

“I believe that there's some lynch pin that may explain how and why what happened, happened,” Peggy continued to explain. “I'm just trying to confirm a hunch that I have had since yesterday afternoon.”

“Well, this is what the system captured, Peggy,” Howard said, placing the paper in front of Peggy.

Silence fell upon those at the table for a few long moments, and as much as Steve wanted to prompt her for an answer, he refrained from doing so. Even as rough of a sketch as it was, there was no mistaking the definition of the outline he saw. He just hoped—

“That's the operative that MI6 calls the Winter Soldier.”

If Steve could feel any further unease, any further twisting sensation within his heart, or the ice that seemed to grip him, he did. Silence met Peggy's declaration, but that was quickly shattered a moment later when Howard scoffed ever so slightly, saying, “Pegs, I thought the reports said that this Winter Soldier person is ghost story.”

“Yeah,” Sousa followed up, nodding in agreement. “You read the reports that MI6 put out after they wrapped up the investigation on the Cambridge Five. Hell, even Mallory himself told me that this Winter Soldier person is fake. A story cleverly distributed by the Soviet propaganda machine.”

“You weren't there in West Berlin, Daniel,” Peggy said, as Steve saw her tighten her grip on the edge of the table ever so slightly as her tone took on more of an underlying anger. “I saw him. Silver arm, emblazoned with the blood red star, hiding in shadows that no civilian would take a second look at – a supposed ghost or spectre of my imagination. Minutes later, a hundred meter radius blast kills the scientist I was trying to recruit – at the epicenter no less.”

“Cairo, 1955, the UN's Diplomatic Negotiation Team, just as they were about to make ground with the separatists. Mexico City, 1957, a US Army colonel openly assassinated in broad daylight. Sydney, 1964, US Admiral and his adjutant in the middle of a naval exercise with the Australian Navy. No one knew that Admiral Torres and Lieutenant Commander Silvano were dead until the end of the exercise. Every single report, including that 1971 West Berlin report had an agent mentioning that he or she caught a glimpse of a silver arm with a red star.”

Steve could hear the frustration in Peggy's voice, the anger, and the sadness she felt for the loss of life. He desperately wanted to validate her assertion that the Winter Soldier was real, and that Howard's thermal imaging capture showed that a man was behind the myth. He wanted to tell her _who_ the Winter Soldier war, but he didn't. It was better to let the mythos of the Winter Soldier remain – the ghost in the Intelligence community who had been credited for the assassinations over two dozen people, and hundreds more in collateral damage.

“You still don't believe me, do you?” Peggy said after a few moments, her eyes flickering back and forth between Howard and Sousa. She pushed the sketch to the center of the table, standing back up so that she was no longer leaning against the table, as Steve saw the hint of hurt in her eyes, of the fact that both Howard and this Agent Sousa who had her confidence and--

And then it hit him, as to why she was holding herself tall and proud, despite the disbelief that the two had voiced. Howard had not openly denied it, but Sousa had, and Peggy had called him out specifically. It was not because Sousa was a SHIELD agent who worked closely with Peggy, but the fact that Sousa was _married_ to Peggy. He should have noticed right away, but he hadn't – Peggy and Agent Sousa had matching rings on their fingers.

With that piece of the puzzle slotted firmly in his mind, he understood why Sousa consistently denied the reports. “Please don't continue to pluck at that string, Director Carter,” he forced himself to say, shattering the silence.

Somehow, somewhere, he found the courage to continue to hold Peggy's sharp gaze, ignoring the looks that the others were giving him. “I may not know his identity here, but in another reality, the Winter Soldier took on the visage of Nat. The Winter Soldier in that reality almost killed us. Whoever this person is, stalking or hunting us, he's good. The sooner we leave, the better it would be for everyone.”

Whether it was the grain of truth embedded within the lie that he _had_ to tell to protect both Peggy and Bucky's futures, or the fact he spoke at all, seemed to be enough for Howard. Even Sousa looked slightly relieved at the stated affirmation, and the attempt to get Peggy to drop the pursuance of the Winter Soldier. Steve hoped that Peggy would listen, even if it broke his own heart to lie to her. He did not want to change her future – to have her continue pursuing the Winter Soldier, because he knew how persistent she was. If she continued down this path, there was an extremely good chance that HYDRA would consider her investigation into the Winter Soldier's activities too invasive and kill her.

He just couldn't tell her that – tell her any of the future, and the knife in his heart twisted some more.

“In another reality,” Peggy said after a moment, nodding, briefly looking away before pinning him with a simple look that sent a sliver of trepidation through him. “What about yours? Did you have a Winter Soldier in yours?”

“Director--” Natasha began, attempting to draw Peggy's attention away from him, as if protecting him from the words said by Peggy.

“Steve, let's go,” James had said at the same time, as Steve saw him sweep by and forcefully clamp a hand on his left arm. Despite himself, he let James drag him away, as he heard him continue to say, “Daisy, where to? Director Carter and this SHIELD obviously aren't interested in helping us, or saving their own asses.”

“Um, y-yeah--” Daisy's slight stutter came trailing after them.

The three of them, with Natasha a few steps behind them only made it ten steps out the door and down the hall when rapid footsteps came up from behind them. “Wait!” Sousa said, as the agent hurried by fast enough to turn and stand before both him.

“What?” James stated, surprising Steve with just how much hostility was in his tone. He had thought James had been mostly faking his irritation when he had dragged him out of there.

“Look,” Sousa said, holding his hands up in a placating manner, looking apologetic. “I'm sorry about this. Peggy... Peggy's usually not like this. We want to help, we really do... it's just--”

“I understand,” Steve softly interrupted, raising his arm that James still had a firm grip on, to ward the agent from saying anything at the moment. “It's... honestly, it's been difficult for us... for me as well.”

Sousa nodded, sympathizing, as he said, “Yeah...” In a more hopeful tone, the agent asked, “Are you guys willing to go back in, so we don't have to conduct this in the hall?”

Steve glanced over at James, and rather reluctantly, James let go of his arm. The irritated look did not die on his expression though, and even though Steve wanted to confront James about his actions, he refrained from doing so. This was not the time and place to do so – he would ask later, and get the full story from James, as he knew that James worked extremely well with the other reality's Director Carter. This uncharacteristic and sudden unfriendliness towards Peggy was troubling, and a little concerning – and Steve could see that it was no act, no 'cover' for a lie.

“We will,” he said, nodding.

The four of them followed Sousa back down the hall and into the room, though Steve merely glanced over in acknowledgment from a concerned but brief placement of her hand on his shoulder from Natasha. He knew that he was not 'all right', and frankly, he didn't know if he would ever be after today. Holding back the tide of grief, joy, and relief in seeing Peggy hale and healthy right now was becoming extremely difficult. Seeing Howard standing next to her, alive and well was adding to the ever growing waves crashing against the fragile new wall of his resolve.

He forced himself to take a physical and mental deep breath: _forward and together, until the end of the line._

Reiterating to himself, he had made his choice. He had chosen his path in the future. He was no longer a stranger in a strange world, and he had someone to share it with him. He could not go and ruin the lives that Howard and Peggy had built for themselves – not now – not when he knew them only up to a point, and only had faded memories of him. The past was past, and as he walked back into the suite, he realized the extent of what Bucky's journal – written in the other reality – had been trying to convey to him.

The past – his past, Peggy's past, Howard's past, even Bucky's past – was gone.

Time took all of them away from each other, and though the memories remained, they were just that. Memories. They were of the good, the bad, the difficult, the ugly, and everything in between. Those memories were to be cherished, but time had separated all of them for so long that even if they all came back together, their experiences would have changed them. For better or for worse, it didn't matter – choices had been made that took them down different paths. Their former selves were all now ghosts of the past, and would remain so.

 _We see where_ this _goes..._

_Forward and together, until the end of the line._

“Oh thank God, Sousa--”

“It's all right Mr. Stark,” Steve spoke up, holding up a hand to prevent Howard from apologizing for the abrupt end of the meeting. Peggy was not in the main area, but the bathroom door had been closed when Steve and the others entered. “I think we all just needed some time to process everything.”

“A bunch of hotheads, that's what we are,” Howard muttered.

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head slightly, as he felt the subtly curious gaze of Natasha on him as the rest of his team gathered around the table that Howard and Sousa were standing at. “The Peggy Carter I knew... it was slightly complicated. I didn't want to see Director Carter here hurt as I had been.”

“Well, we still do want to help,” Howard said, nodding as he turned back and pulled another blank sheet of paper forward. “At least I do.”

“All right,” James cautiously stated, his tone less hostile, but still not entirely friendly as it had been earlier. “We'll bite.”

“And I would like to apologize for my interrogative words earlier, Captain Barnes and Captain Rogers,” Peggy's voice surprisingly spoke up from behind them.

Steve and the others turned to see Peggy emerge out from the bathroom, calm and composed. It looked as if she had only been in there to calm herself, but he knew better than that. He could see the minute puffiness around her eyes – a sign that she had been crying. There had only been one time that he knew of, from his memories, that he had seen her cry – or at least shed a few genuine tears. Discounting the fact that he remembered hearing her pleading cries over the radio just before he had crashed the super-fortress of an airplane, she rarely cried.

Despite his wobbly resolve, it was both Natasha and James's presences on either side of him that prevented him from reaching out to comfort Peggy. Instead, he found the courage to say, “We accept your apology.”

He knew that he should have at least acknowledged or gotten an indication from James before speaking for the both of them, but at the moment, he just wanted everything between him and Peggy to settle again. He didn't want Peggy to be angry at him, and he didn't want to keep thinking along the lines of needing to stay here to protect her from Bucky... or Bucky from her, for the matter.

“To the matter at hand,” Peggy said after a few moments, in which she took the opportunity to position herself on the other side of the table, this time directly across from him. As soon as Daisy silently placed the device with the coordinates back on the table, she traced the longitude and latitude of the map spread out across the table, saying, “The only thankful thing we have, is that it's near a cluster of Federal buildings. It looks like it's not located in any of the warehouses that we're currently leasing from your company, Howard.”

“I think this building, if that device is right, is slated for demolition after the holidays,” Sousa spoke up. “It should already be mostly gutted. I don't remember any of the construction or moving reports stating that something odd was found, or that there were any reports of missing persons.”

“Embedded in the walls?” Howard questioned.

“Could be,” Daisy spoke up, shrugging slightly. “But I can't 'sense' it like I do most other stuff. Otherwise, I would've warned all of us away from that thing before it sent us here.”

“It's nine floors,” Sousa stated, shaking his head slightly. “We can't spend all day tapping concrete or using picks to break sections.”

“Do you have some sort of imager on the quinjeep that could... I guess, 'see' into the entire structure, Mr. Stark?” Steve asked. “Can your thermal-infrared pick it up?”

“If it has the right signatures, yeah,” Howard answered, nodding slightly. “But since I'm assuming none of you know the composition of this 0-8-4, we might have to... wait.” A gleam lit up in his eyes as Steve saw him smack a fist into an open palm. “Sonar!”

“You have a system _that_ small and _that_ portable, Stark?” James asked, looking slightly surprised. Others around the table, including Peggy, had similar expressions – even Steve was mildly amazed. He had read up on the evolution of technology such as that – in that the system itself at this time period was quite advanced for its time, but not to the precision it will have been in thirty years.

“Well, prototype combined Sonar-Sodar system that gives you greater precision for a lesser amount of power consumption. The range should be enough to cover the building. I was also trying to make it hand-held, but the Navy--”

“Howard, where is it stored?” Peggy gently interrupted.

“Uh, the warehouse near Georgetown, I think,” Howard answered, scratching the back of his head a little sheepishly.

“All right, then we'll have two of your bodyguards, John and Kurt, take the first quinjeep with you riding in the back. Four of Strike Delta will be riding with you, along with Mr. Jarvis. You'll be in the decoy vehicle, headed to your warehouse to get the Sonar-Sodar device. Captain Rogers and his team will be in the second quinjeep, with Frederic and Jerome driving the second. Daniel and myself will be riding with them, headed to the coordinates. We'll load both vehicles at the hotel's kitchens dock. That way, if this pursuer is still somewhere in the area, he will not know which vehicle to follow.”

Steve saw her gesture to the general route that one of the vehicles would be taking, continuing to say, “With the thermal-infrared system active, we can evade and redirect if necessary. I'll have Mr. Jarvis strip four of Strike Delta of their accouterments and helmets in preparation for transfer.”

“I'll let Jarvis know, Pegs,” Sousa stated, and left the table to return down the hall and to the front door.

She glanced up and looked at not only Steve, but the others on his team with serious eyes that betrayed nothing she was feeling, saying, “I know not what your radio protocol is, but unless it is an emergency, I expect radio silence from the four of you. I also expect that you will defer command to either myself or Daniel, in the event that your pursuer sees through the deception. Let us handle the situation if it arises. Do I have your word?”

Steve glanced over at Natasha first, who merely tilted her head, giving him a silent look that indicated that she was not exactly happy with Peggy's orders, but that the circumstances necessitated it. James had a more neutral look that didn't tell Steve a damn word about what the man was thinking. It was Daisy who was the only one who nodded, though there was a look in her eyes that said that if the Winter Soldier attempted to snipe at them again, she would use her powers, orders or no. That was the only thing he would not argue that Daisy not do. She could sense Bucky's metal arm, and as fantastical as Howard's technology was in 1984, he trusted Daisy's instincts more than tech at the moment.

He returned his gaze onto Peggy, crisply saying, “Yes, ma'am.”

* * *

Two crackles over the radio, which was all it took for him to identify which vehicle the four interlopers and his primary target had taken. It had been one of the two black vehicles that looked like a cross between a military truck and jeep that the target and interlopers had crawled into under secrecy and cover. The signal had been sent by a member of Strike Delta, as he peered into his scope and began to track the second black vehicle.

The safe house that held his previous gear had not been touched yet, and thus he was able to change back into his usual outfit. In the short interim between his retreat from the hotel, back to the safe house, and now at his new perch, he had listened and cleaned up the recording that he had made from the devices that had been attached to the black vehicle last night. Those vehicles had devices that were able to image thermal and infrared for at least two miles. It made it almost impossible to approach without being detected when active.

However, he suspected that Stark had been boasting when he gave the interlopers the range, as it had taken some time for SHIELD reinforcements to arrive at the hotel. He also suspected that there was a 'range' to whatever caused the four interlopers to detect him via his metal arm. He had been about two hundred meters from the warehouse, and nearly at the hotel room door of where his targets were when he was detected, in both respective cases. Thus now, he stood about five hundred meters away from the approaching vehicle, on the rooftop, hidden in the shadows of an overgrown attempt of rooftop gardening.

Another listening device had been discreetly planted by one of the Strike Delta team members on this particular vehicle. Thus far, he had not heard any indications that the device, the four interlopers had detected him, or its occupants in both the cabin and rear become alerted to his presence. There was also no other gestures that he could see within the cabin of the vehicle, other than concentrated driving.

As he removed his scope from his eyes and slung the sniper rifle so that it sat on his back, he began to jog along the rooftop, leaping from one to another. He kept the vehicle within visual sight, sometimes extending it out beyond the five hundred meters if he needed to navigate a course through the rooftops. In broad daylight, with the police presence still somewhat heavy on the ground, the helicopters that buzzed around had lessened slightly.

Still, he was swift enough, and slipped into shadows for most of his trek across the rooftops, to not let any helicopter, be it police, civilian, or military, spot him. The route that the vehicle was taking was quite circuitous, but it also gave him the opportunity to spot and evade snipers perched on the rooftops of several Federal buildings within the vicinity. To take out the snipers was to invite far more trouble than was worth his time. He knew that he would have to be fast in securing an escape route once the mission was completed, as the report of a sniper rifle firing was not the most silent of a weapon.

As the Winter Soldier listened to what the occupants were discussing, while continuing to follow the vehicle, he began to recognize that Stark was not riding with the occupants...

~~~

Steve had never felt this much awkwardness in an enclosure as he did now, wedged between Daisy and Natasha on one side of the quinjeep's jump seats, with James sitting on the left side of Natasha. Across from the four of them were Peggy and her husband – and to Steve, the situation felt even worse than the time he had sat in the back of a car with Peggy, on their way to the site where he was to be transformed into a super-soldier.

Natasha had tried to alleviate the tension in the air, and from weighing on him too much by occasionally knocking her left knee into his, as if this were a rocking boat ride. She had also tried to start a more inane, non-crisis-related question by asking both Peggy and Sousa what their favorite baseball teams were. Of course, Steve already knew that Peggy's favorite team was the Yankees, and was not surprised when she mentioned it. Yet, he had never really heard Natasha voice any opinion or statistics about sports teams, except to make a comment that he didn't understand, about Cricket.

To his surprise, Sousa declared himself to be a Dodgers fan. Immediately after Peggy had voiced the fact that she rooted for the Yankees, Natasha had started a rather enthusiastic conversation with Peggy about the Yankees. That included era-relevant statistics that Steve remembered perusing one random day when he wanted to find out how the Yankees were doing, and why the Dodgers decided to move to Los Angeles. He wasn't sure if Natasha was faking her enthusiasm for the Yankees, but she was certainly occupying Peggy's attention. For that he was extremely grateful to Natasha – that was until she somehow pulled him into a four-way debate between himself, Sousa, Natasha, and Peggy over the Yankees and Dodgers.

It wasn't a heated debate, though it was spirited. Little by little, he felt himself become more at ease, more able to look at Peggy and not feel a sharp pang in his heart. Somehow, just their talking of baseball was making him happier, even if it reminded him of the rare hours that he and Peggy had time together. Those were good memories. Even though she was a little older and a little wiser than she had been during the war, he could see that she still contained the same passion, drive, stubbornness, wit, intelligence, pride, and faith that had caused him to fall in love with her.

He had loved her, and she had loved him. She had let go and moved on with her life – living a full and productive one. He was in the midst of following her footsteps and example – he had to let the last of her go, and set the fact that they could never be together again from his mind. The past was hers, and the future, his.

“Red Sox?”

Steve couldn't help but snort in laughter as the pain from the knot in his chest, the ice in his stomach, and knife in his heart began to slowly recede. It was the resounding exclamation of 'No!' from Natasha, Peggy, and Sousa that caused him to bark in outright laughter.

“You will not make it into the Thanksgiving dinner from hell, Barnes,” Natasha warned, as Steve glanced over in the dimness of the interior of the quinjeep to see her glaring with some force at James. It made him wonder if Natasha was actually a fan of the Yankees, rather than using it as a cover story.

“Well, that's a little more awkward than our usual Thanksgiving celebrations,” he heard Sousa mutter, though there was some mirth in his eyes. “Three people rooting for three different baseball teams.”

“Tell me about it,” Daisy muttered none-too-loudly. “No one wants to talk hockey, ever.”

“Oh, now that's another topic I can get behind,” Sousa said, grinning. “Providing that your favorite team is--”

There was a rapid knock of three against the partition that separated the cabin from the rear, before they heard the muffled voice of one of Howard's bodyguards saying, “Ma'ams, and sirs, we're here. Scope is clear as well.”

“All right, let's go find us a 0-8-4,” Sousa stated, clapping his hands together. “Or at least try to give Howard a more precise location to set up his device. If any of you tap the wall and find it different, please don't try to break it open. We know it brought you here from whatever reality you're from, but none of us want to be going back with you, especially after what you've told us the 0-8-4 does. There's a likely chance you expended your 0-8-4 getting here, so they'll be no way back for any of us who travel with you.”

“We'll be sure to let you know if we find anything, Agent Sousa,” Steve answered.

As they clambered out of the vehicle with their SHIELD-issued helmets on, with James surprisingly being an absolute gentleman and helping everyone, including both Sousa, and him, Steve, out. Steve couldn't help but glanced back as James climbed into the vehicle again as soon as they were all off of it. “Wiping it down,” was all the explanation he received.

“He has a point,” Peggy stated, drawing his attention away from James. He still couldn't figure out why James had emotionally swung from being amenable to downright hostile when it came to Peggy. He had tried to puzzle it out during the ride to the demolition site, but try as he may, the agent was annoyingly difficult to read – as difficult as it had been to initially read Bucky in Bucharest.

“If yours, or Captain Barnes's prints end up in SHIELD databases, well... that would mean I would never see the end of the paperwork trail,” Peggy said. “For Natalie and Daisy, they may have counterparts in this reality, who may or may not be in SHIELD databases. Paperwork to eliminate duplicates are long and arduous.”

“True,” he agreed, as he glanced over to see Natasha doing something with her hair. Her helmet was on the ground, and murmuring an excuse, he stepped away.

Approaching Natasha, he quietly ordered, “Nat, put your helmet back on.”

“It's squeezing the sides of my head,” she complained, as she repeated the gesture of fluffing her hair.

Just as he was about to crouch down, pick up the helmet and shove it into the hands, as he did not need her to be acting like a brat right at this moment, he stopped himself. While it was normal for people to use repeated gestures whenever repeating themselves, Natasha was an exception to that. She usually did not repeat gestures, even when explaining things to him. She always used different gestures each time she explained something over and over again – seemingly making each explanation unique.

“Are you communicating with someone?” he asked, frowning. It was the only logical explanation he could come up with, to justify Natasha's actions.

“If the Winter Soldier is here, and if he has seen the message, he should adhere to the Red Room protocol that I had just enacted,” she bluntly stated. “I figured out why he initially threw that knife at us the night we arrived, instead of shooting us dead for interfering with his mission.”

He stared at her, and while he wanted to look around to see if he could spot Bucky with his keen eyes, there was a warning look in Natasha's eyes that stayed his actions. “And if not?” he asked, managing to shake himself out of his shock.

“Well, it's still squeezing my head,” she stated in a lighter, definitely pouty tone, as she crouched down to pick up her helmet.

“Put the helmet on, Nat,” he answered, slightly exasperated.

~~~

The Winter Soldier blinked rapidly a few times, pulling briefly away from the scope of his sniper rifle before peering back through. It was very rare that he got gut feelings, and even rarer that he ended up being surprised by something. This was a most unusual mission that had given him both, and it didn't sit well with him.

He would not have believed the signal, had he not _seen_ the people accompanying the one who looked like the new Black Widow. He had briefly seen himself, with shorter hair, clean-shaven – a far cry from his current state. It had accompanied the protocol that this older-looking Black Widow had stated – that to kill them was to jeopardize a mission in the future. What mission it was, had not been stated, but the order was absolute.

As he peered through again, he could see them separating into pairs, walking along the floors of the building that had strings of demolition wires hung all around. One precise shot, one catalyst from his rifle would set off the chain reaction, bringing the building down upon the four interlopers, along with his target. Yet, he stayed his finger from pulling the trigger. If what the older-looking Widow indicated was true, then these four interlopers were gathering intelligence from the top of SHIELD.

Yet, it didn't make sense. If the four were from the future, then intelligence from however many years they had traveled back to was useless—unless—

An unexpected bloom of pain between his eyes flared up as he winced, and pulled himself away from the scope. He briefly set the rifle down. While he was able to tolerate pain, this one felt different – completely different from the pain inflicted by the cascade of electricity that washed over his head whenever he sat in the chair.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he lifted his right hand and rubbed his forehead as a most unusual image formed in his mind's eye. It was of an old cover – a magazine with a year date of 1938 stamped on the corner, his thoughts automatically substituted. It had humans encased in bulbous suits and helmets, and something that looked like an octopus chasing the humans. It was a most unusual image, and as the brief, intense pain started to lessen, so did the image.

He found himself breathing rather harshly, his chest heaving, and had rivulets of sweat dripping down the sides of his face. He did not like the feeling at all, and whatever that was, he wanted it to end. With that thought he shoved everything uncomfortable, painful, strange, and unusual to the depths of his mind and refocused himself.

Snatching up his rifle, he pressed the scope firmly against his eye and sighted down towards where he had last seen his primary target. He was here for a mission; he would complete it and return to Karpov. The interlopers were not of his concern, and if he thought any more about them, then the pain would return.

The Winter Soldier frowned as he held himself still – his target was no longer alone. The voice he had identified earlier in listening through the devices told him that other female interloper on the same team as he older-looking Widow was most likely the person who had 'stopped' his bullets at the park. She was walking next to him on the fifth floor, her helmet-encased head turning this way and that. She stood close to his target, and looked alert for any signs of danger.

He had no shot – at least not yet.

~~~

There had been a time when Steve enjoyed walking alone with Peggy. Within the confines of the SSR, it had been almost impossible to find time and space for a moment alone with her. In the field, if a forward base of operations had been set up, it had been easier, but no less not as private. It felt like stolen moments when they had a chance to be together, and Steve made every moment alone with her count – even if most of it was just holding hands and taking a quiet stroll.

Now, it was making him slightly nervous. He was not apprehensive, but he could also see that Peggy was a little unsure as well – even though she had been the one to voluntarily 'pair off' with him in their search through the nine floors of the building. Agent Sousa had partnered up with Daisy, obstinately to talk more about hockey whilst tapping the walls and columns for any signs of the 0-8-4. The two were two floors below the current floor both he and Peggy were current on.

James and Natasha were covering the ground floor, but apart from the surprising revelation of what she had done to hopefully ward off any attack from the Winter Soldier, he was slightly concerned with the seemingly conspiratorial glances the two had shared. While he did not know Natasha as a schemer of the sort, James was close enough to Bucky's personality pre-war that he suspected that the man was planning something and enlisting Natasha's help. Whether it was for their current predicament, or to get out of whatever scrape they were going to end up in once they got back, Steve could not help but feel just slightly awed at just how well the two worked with each other.

“You're from the future, aren't you?”

All thoughts about finding a non-revelatory way to alleviate the uncomfortable air between Peggy and him screeched to a halt in Steve's mind. He had been fairly confident that Natasha and James had somehow convinced Peggy that they were from another reality. He had--

“I'm right, aren't I?” she continued, as he realized he had remained silent for a little too long. He had also taken a few steps forward, further into the floor that the two of them were examining.

He stopped, and turned, seeing her stand a few steps away from him, with her arms crossed over her chest. There was a neutral expression on her face that was bordering on anger, and it pained him to see such an expression on her. All he could do – despite what he had been warned, what he had even told him self not to do – was remove his helmet and nod in affirmation.

Her expression immediately softened as he saw her lips form an 'o' and her crossed arms shake a little. “Many, many years, Peggy,” he softly stated, trying to prevent her from going into complete shock.

However, as soon as he took a step forward to close the distance, she took a step back. He halted his actions, dropping his arms to his side as he looked away, and took a reluctant step back.

“H-how?” she stuttered, causing him to look back up. There were no tears in her eyes, but they were wide with a gamut of emotions flitting across them. “Where?”

“They told me I was found somewhere north of the Arctic circle. That's all I know, and that all that they--”

“They?” she sharply questioned. “They who?”

“I-I can't say,” he managed to force himself to say, even though he wanted to blurt out who had found him. He took a step forward again, and this time, Peggy did not take a step back. “I-I don't want to change the future, Peggy. Nat, James, and Daisy... I won't change their futures.”

“James?” she questioned, giving him a slightly puzzled look. “I'd never heard you call Sergeant Barnes by his given name, Steve.”

“He's not Bucky,” he stated, shaking his head slightly. “At least he isn't the Bucky we both knew. What we told you is true. James and the others are from another reality. I requested their help in an investigation for something else. In the course of it, the four of us got caught up in this 0-8-4 object that apparently transported us to here.”

“Everything was true, except that you're not Air Force, you're still Army, isn't it?” she questioned, taking a step forward herself, looking a little less distraught than she had initially been.

He silently nodded. “I'm sorry, Peggy,” he said, feeling the knife in his heart lessen considerably as soon as he had said those words. “I'm sorry I had to lie to you. I wanted to tell you, I wanted to tell Howard. I wanted both of you to find me _now_ , rather than have strangers find me so many years into the future, but I couldn't do that to my friends. I couldn't do that to either you or Howard – not with the lives that both of you have already built. I wish--”

“Oh, Steve--” she said, startling him slightly as she immediately closed the distance.

Rather than embrace her as he desperately wanted to do, he fumbled slightly as he clasped both of her hands into her own. It was enough, as he knew that if he pulled her any closer to him, what little resolve he had left, even with the new wall he had been trying to build, would completely wash away.

It seemed that she was of the same mind as him, as he saw a genuine smile, the one that he rarely saw, appear on her face. Their clasp was brief though, and it was Peggy who let go first. “I'm glad you were found,” she said, as the smile on her lips slowly faded, as her expression took on a more somber look.

The silence that hung between both of them was not as tension filled as the first time, but it was still palpable. “Peggy--” he began, trying to find a way to get back to the comfortable feeling that they had shared.

“You know who the Winter Soldier is, don't you, Steve?” she quietly asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed, briefly closing his eyes before opening them again. “He was a threat my team and I faced in my time. We're the ones who dealt with him, but in the process, many lives were lost. The price of freedom was high, and while we were willing to pay it, the world wasn't.”

“Then why not let us, let SHIELD deal with it now, Steve?” Peggy asked. “He's here on US soil. Surely--”

_Bucky?!_

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

“It's personal Peggy,” he interrupted, shaking his head. Despite the danger he and even her husband had iterated, despite the plead for her to let this go, it seemed she was just as stubborn about it as he was persistent in trying to convince her. “Please... please don't take that away from me.”

“And how many more will he assassinate, or kill through collateral damage, before your team defeats him, Steve? How many more lives must be lost to him?”

“ _Please_ , Peggy,” he begged, regretting the path that he had chosen in confirming his true identity to her. “Don't do this--”

“Oh my stars--” she began, taking a step back, as he saw a profound expression cross her face. Her hands briefly went up to her mouth before she dropped them and looked straight at him. “You said that Captain James Barnes is not the Bucky Barnes either of us knew,” she began. “Yet, everything except for your military affiliation is true. Natalie Rogers was the Winter Soldier in another reality, yet you call her your sister, even though she looks nothing like you. You used a personal connection with the Winter Soldier example to try to convince me to stop my investigation – and it almost worked.”

She paused for a moment, but Steve could not get a word in as she continued to say, “You just said again that it was personal, Steve. He's Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, isn't he? The Winter Soldier is him. He survived the fall in the Alps,” she concluded.

“He will kill you, Peggy,” he quietly answered her, resigned to the fact that he just could not – would no longer – lie to her. “He tried to kill the four of us at Gordon Park.”

He fished out the unmarked sniper rifle bullet that Daisy had stopped with her powers and held out for her to take. “He doesn't know any of us. Please, leave him alone, until my team and I can deal with him.”

“The price of freedom was high,” she murmured his earlier words back to him, glancing down at her hands before looking back up, and took the bullet from him. He returned her gaze in an unflinching manner – as she was all business and no longer coping with the shock of two revelations. “But you were able to save him, didn't you, Steve?”

“I did,” he said, nodding. “I will.”

“I forgive you, Steve Rogers,” she quietly stated after a few moments, taking up his hands again in her own. She gently squeezed them. Before she removed her hands, she deposited the bullet back into his palm, saying, “Time cruelly took us away from each other for far too long, but that same time gave you back your life.”

“Peggy, I--”

“You're right, Steve,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “You're right about everything. Let's get you home.”

“Thank you,” he said, hearing the finality within her tone.

~~~

“It looks like your plan is working, Romanov.”

Natasha glanced over hearing the playful tone in Barnes's voice, but seeing the serious look in his eyes. She merely acknowledged his compliment with a slight tilt of her head. As they rounded the corner and back to the wired-up stairwell that would take them to the ground floor, she glanced in either direction and out into the view before her. There was no visual indication or evidence that the Winter Soldier had moved, but she wouldn't have put it past the assassin to reposition himself after receiving that protocol order.

“Looks like Stark and Strike Delta are arriving,” Barnes's words drew her away from her quick visual search for the Winter Soldier, as she focused back towards the entrance to see the second black quinjeep coming towards the building.

It had been both a gamble and a fair amount of certainty on her part that she had silently communicated via Morse taps on the wrist of Barnes, her suspicions. She didn't know when exactly HYDRA had taken control of Strike Delta, but she had to reasonably guess that it was most likely close to when they had been formed. Crossbones had been the leader of Strike Delta when SHIELD collapsed, with both him and the entirety of that Strike team loyal to HYDRA until the end. Thus, it also fit the theory in how the Winter Soldier was able to easily mask himself within the Strike team at the hotel.

While she knew that had she more of a moral compass than she did at the moment, she would have regretted not telling Director Carter or Agent Sousa about Strike Delta. But that was childish and frankly quite ill-thought. She was not going to mess up her own future, or any future, even as she watched Steve stumble and try to cope with it. It was not her place to warn anyone of the coming danger to SHIELD, and Barnes was of the same mindset. Certain things _needed_ to happen for HYDRA to collapse in both of their worlds, and there was too much at stake to say anything other than repeating their other reality story.

As they made their way down to the ground level to meet up with Stark and the device he was hopefully carrying, the others had also seen what they had seen and joined them. Their helmets were still on, and it was Stark's boisterous, confident to the point of arrogance greeting, “Ladies and gents.”

“Howard,” Carter greeted, giving Stark a mild look.

“Ta-da!” was all the famous inventor said, as he removed the metal casing with one hand, and held out the platform that contained the modified Sonar-Sodar device.

It looked like a plain metal box with two switches and a hinge on top that could allow it to be carried like a lantern. “Impressive,” was all that Sousa stated. “Negative on the third, fourth or eighth floor though,” the agent stated.

“Same on ours,” Steve said, shrugging slightly at the same time Carter shook her head.

“We might have something on the ground floor here, but it could just be an empty fuse box that someone decided to build a wall over,” Barnes stated, gesturing towards the central column shaft that held up the core of the building. “Not located in the center, but a little offset. Might want to settle that device there.”

“Okay, then,” Stark stated, gesturing for both her and Barnes to lead the way. “There was enough charge to last a few hours, but I modified the settings and readings on the way here. It should penetrate all sorts of material, but now the charge only lasts one burst.”

“One charge?” Steve asked, as Natasha heard the worry in his tone.

“One charge, unfortunately,” Howard reiterated as they reached the area where Barnes's taps against the wall had indicated something unusual. He set the device down, turning slightly back, and said, “All right, here we go.”

Natasha saw him flick the first switch, and a rather interesting hum started up. She heard Johnson grunt slightly as she saw her tilt her head ever so slightly. No one else indicated that they were feeling anything uncomfortable, but Stark didn't let the hum linger for too long, and flicked the other switch. A sudden cascade of light shot up from the device, seemingly enveloping all of them and the building that surrounded them.

She blinked as the light suddenly died, and the device fell silent. “Hey, can I borrow one of your gloves?” Stark suddenly asked.

“Here,” Barnes said, shucking one of his gloves from the borrowed Strike uniform, and handing it over to Stark before Steve could.

She knew that the agent was still a little angry at what had happened at the tense, initial discussion with Carter, but the reason behind it was a mystery to her. She knew Steve was completely baffled by Barnes's attitude towards Carter, but it was not her place to draw out Barnes's rationales. If Barnes wanted to explain his actions, he would.

“All right,” Stark muttered, slipping the glove on and hefting the cover off of the device by the hinge.

They all saw a screen displaying a seemingly photo-copied green image at the forefront of the device, next to the exposed switches. The rough outline it displayed looked like nearly the entire building's bare bones structure, but with different densities of green particles spread across the floors, walls, and support beams.

“Looks like you have an eye for 0-8-4s, Captain Barnes,” Carter stated, as she made her way a few steps left of where the device was, and tapped the wall. “There's an unusual concentration of particles here that doesn't look boxy or beam-like.”

Barnes didn't answer as he took the glove back from Stark, though Johnson did make her way to where Carter was and placed a hand on the concrete-wrapped support structure. Natasha saw the air around her hand move and vibrate ever so slightly. A few seconds passed and the agent released her powers, turning her head towards them and nodding slightly. Natasha believed her when she stated that she could not feel the 0-8-4, but sensing the materials around it – well, that was more plausible for confirmation.

“Time to go then,” she stated, placing a hand on Steve's sleeve.

Natasha saw him silently nod in acknowledgment to her silent request to not make this harder than it already was. To her surprise, she saw him merely turn to Carter and give her a single nod of his head, and stepped away. She knew that Carter had deliberately separated out Steve from the rest of them when they had been going around the floors, scouting out the area. What had happened in that time was something that she was not going to ask Steve about, but it seemed that he – and Carter – had finally come to terms with the reality story that had been spun.

She saw Steve stick out a hand towards Sousa first, shaking it firmly, before doing the same for Howard saying, “Thank you, Mr. Stark, for doing this.”

“We're just glad to help, Steve,” Stark answered.

“Good luck, all of you,” Carter stated as a final farewell.

As Natasha took Steve by the arm and firmly guided him to where Johnson was, she saw Carter, Stark, and Sousa begin to step back and away from the building. Considering what happened when they had first been transported here, Natasha didn't blame them for retreating to a safer distance. It would also lessen the chance that any person not from the future would be caught in the blast.

As soon as Carter and the other SHIELD personnel, along with Howard, his bodyguards, and his butler were clear of the building – standing on the other side of the plastic-fencing cordoned off road – Johnson began to deploy her powers again. Natasha glanced over to see Steve resolutely looking at the wall where Johnson was doing her work. Not once, as the others retreated, did he turn back for one last look.

Slipping her right hand into his left, she squeezed his hand for a brief moment, saying, “We can visit her grave when we get back, Steve.”

“I know,” he quietly answered. “But we don't need to, Nat. It's all right. I've made my peace.”

~~~

Target: acquired.

Location: ground floor, beyond the demolition barriers.

Situational Awareness: SHIELD agents present, collateral damage negligible.

_Breathe—pause—heartbeat—fire._

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the briefing and planning part of this chapter, Peggy's mentioning of the West Berlin 1971 mission with the blast of 100 meters is a direct reference to Bucky's mentioning of 'the Pillbox' explosive in the first story of this series. The two were on their respective missions there (Peggy to recruit the scientist, the Winter Soldier to assassinate the scientist) – neither anticipated an explosive being planted inside of the scientist. I might write that West Berlin mission later as a side-story, but suffice to say, Peggy's missions had more than the usual intercepts with the Winter Soldier's missions for quite a number of years.


	6. Have a Pleasant Day

 

**Chapter 6: Have a Pleasant Day**

_Era: Modern – Mid-to-Late 2014_

_Location: Washington, DC_

 

“Good morning, Peggy,” Steve warmly greeted as he stepped into the room, bearing a multi-colored bouquet of lilies that he knew Peggy loved.

“Steve,” she said smiling as brilliantly as he had last seen her, her voice a little croaky, but still strong. The nurse had stated that there had been a slight tickle in her throat since a few weeks ago. It was nothing serious yet, as the doctor had suspected that perhaps she had just accidentally swallowed water a little too fast, and that her body was still slowly recovering from a coughing fit. Yet, the staff was monitoring it for now to ensure that there were no further complications.

As he placed the flowers in the water-filled, but empty vase near the window and arranged them, he knew that her eyes were on him. It was his first time visiting her since the fall of SHIELD. He didn't know how much television she watched, but he had to assume that she had heard about what happened to SHIELD. Thus he knew that there were some things that could not be avoided in today's conversations.

Turning back, he took up the chair in the corner and brought to his customary place by her bed side. Sitting down, he wordlessly took her right hand into his own and held her hand between both of his. Silence remained between the two of them, and she seemed to be merely content in staring at him with a tender look in her eyes.

Finally, after a few minutes, he said, “I take it that you heard about what happened to SHIELD?”

“Most of it through the news outlets and what newspapers I could snatch away from the nurses,” Peggy admitted, the light in her eyes fading slightly as a more serious look overcame her contented expression. “I'm surprised that you returned to DC so soon, Steve. I hadn't expected you to return until perhaps a year or so – after the proverbial dust had settled.”

“I couldn't leave you here,” he said, protesting slightly. “I couldn't--”

“Steve,” Peggy interrupted, smiling her small smile. “I'm just glad you're all right.”

“And I'm glad as well,” he admitted. “After the fall, I was afraid that HYDRA may have done something to you – or that my going to you would lead them to attack this place. Sam... he told me to stay away for a few months, that we both needed to lie low until the dust started to settle.”

He sighed, briefly looking away and out towards the window where the view looked so peaceful. When he returned his attention back onto Peggy, he continued to say, “It was thanks to Tony's quick actions in using his contacts within the military that a protective perimeter was set up in this place. He also offered Sam, Natasha, and I shelter – at the new Avengers compound in upstate New York.”

“Lovely area,” she murmured. “I spent many summers in the Adirondacks with the children, swimming, playing, and hiking.” He felt her shift her hand slightly within his own, before she said, “I'm glad you're safe, Steve.”

“Me too,” he answered, smiling.

“But you're not here just to visit a doddering old woman, are you, Steve?” she asked after a moment of silence.

Steve glanced down feeling an unexpected knot forming in his chest. Leave it to Peggy, even in her current state, to be precise with her words. She always seemed to be able to pick out the fragments of what was bothering him, and spool it out so that he was able to confront it and resolve it. She never let things fester, and either always had practical or comforting advice for him.

“Yes, and no,” he answered, looking back up. “There's something you need to know about what happened during the fall of SHIELD, Peggy. I admit, it was my first instinct – and Sam's advice – to keep this from you, but ultimately, I think you need to know about this.”

“Go on,” she quietly encouraged him.

He took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, “Bucky is alive.”

Silence answered his declaration, and as the seconds passed, the serious expression on Peggy's face did not change. It was only a few moments into that silence that he realized that she was waiting for him to continue – to explain the how, why; the details.

“I got a file from Natasha and her contacts in Kiev,” he explained, “It's all in Russian and I'm slowly making my way through it, translating bit by bit. But, Peggy, when Bucky fell from that train in the Alps, he hit the river and apparently survived the impact. HYDRA-embedded Soviet agents found him and brainwashed him for their own usage. He was given a metal arm, stamped with a blood red star, and turned into an assassin for both the Soviets and HYDRA. They called him the Winter Soldier.”

Again, silence answered him, but it was only Peggy's blinking of her eyes and her slight movement of her hand in his that indicated that she was still aware and listening to him. “You got through to him, didn't you? You broke his conditioning?”

Steve blinked in surprise, not expecting those two to be the first questions out of her lips. Even more surprising was the fact that she had asked them with the tone of experience. “Uh, yes,” he answered. “I hope... I think. I'm not sure. We fought... twice. The second time, I fell. He dragged me from the Potomac – that's all I know. Were there SHIELD agents who had experienced the same thing that Bucky went through?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “But I know you, and I know you'll be going after him.”

The understanding look in Peggy's eyes made Steve oddly embarrassed, and he didn't know why. “I'm not going to be able to visit you as often--”

“Nonsense,” she interrupted, the serious look on her face remaining, but the smile that graced her lips, genuine. She slipped her hand out of his grasp, but didn't retrieve it under the cover. Instead, she turned his right hand over so that it was facing palm up, as she clasped his hand with a rather firm grip.

“Bring him home, Steve,” she stated, almost making it sound like an order. “No matter how long it takes, bring him in from the cold and _home_.”

* * *

_Era: Unknown_

_Location: Unknown_

 

“Get down!”

Between Daisy's quaking powers being unleashed, the explosive flash of light that seared through his eyes, and the sudden flip-flop sensation in his stomach, Steve expected to be thrown violently to the ground by the 0-8-4's transportation. What he did not expect was to be _tackled_ to the ground, his helmet cushioning the impact of his head hitting the ground.

His ears rung with the impact, and a brief burst of stars appeared in his eyes. However, the ringing noise was not limited to the impact or Daisy's powers – it was also ringing with the after effects of a bullet that had passed perilously close to where he had been. He stared up past his helmet's visor, to see a similar helmeted person staring down at him, half-straddling him from the tackle. The visors were dark enough to obscure most of the facial features, especially the eyes, but Steve could see the momentary panic in James's eyes die down.

“Everyone okay?!” he saw him lift his head up and shout as a cacophony of sounds came rushing into his ears.

“Fine!” Steve dimly heard Natasha shout.

“Geez, I think I'm going to choke to death from all of this smoke inhalation,” Daisy acknowledged from closer by.

There was no other sound of a rifle or multiple shots passing over them, but the crackling sound of fires burning around them, along with the heat emanating from them told Steve that something had worked. Whether they were back in their proper time was another story.

“I'm fine,” he stated, catching James's attention as he tried to lift his arm up from being pinned to the ground by the man.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” James apologized looking back down and a moment later, let him go and stood back up.

Not that he didn't think James was capable of tackling him to the ground, as he remembered Bucky doing the same to prevent a bully from getting the jump on him before. However, this time he felt slightly different about it – oddly hesitant, almost strangely shy about it. He brushed away the feeling, and quickly accepted James's hand to help him up. Unlike the first time the four of them had been transported, the smoke in the air wasn't as thick, nor was the destruction rendered terrible.

He did notice that the sounds of the crackling fires were being accompanied by the wails of several car alarms. It became clearer to him and the others that the building they had initially found the 0-8-4, in 1984, had been turned into a car park. Where the 0-8-4 was at the moment, was not known to them, as he looked around. The smoke around them continuing to rise and billow out.

Steve knew that he should have been more concerned about a missing 0-8-4, but his priority was to get his team out. Following the smoke trail that seemed to be traveling with where the wind was blowing in the car park, he gestured and shouted, “This way!”

He was still a little dizzy from the accumulated effects of the impact and travel through time, but he pushed himself on. The sounds of the sirens and of the fire suppression system being set off were getting louder, but he was headed in the right direction. Soon, he found the edge of a wall, and a few feet to his right was a door.

Kicking it open, he gestured for Natasha to lead the way up to the rooftops and out, knowing that her instincts in avoiding capture was needed. He needed to be on their six to ensure that if any emergency responders saw or followed them, they were quickly taken down. Taking out the collapsible bou, he activated it and followed the other three up the steps four at a time.

By the time they reached the rooftop of the car park, he could hear the crackling of distant radio chatter by security personnel calling for backup. The Washington DC skyline looked somewhat similar as they had left it before being transported back to 1984, except that it was near sunset. However, he knew that that was no indication that they were back in the time they had left.

It was only when they were half-way across the rooftop, running towards the general direction of the building where the cloaked quinjet was still hopefully parked at, that they encountered the first of the responders bursting up after them. Bullets and shouts to halt trailed after them, and though Steve's first instinct was to duck and take cover, he suppressed it. He did instinctively flick his wrist this way and that towards his back, to deflect the closer bullets away with the bou, but did not dare glance back or slow down.

Their leap from rooftop to rooftop was more menacing and dangerous than what they had encountered in 1984, as multiple helicopters belonging to the military and police filled the skies even before they had reached the quinjet. It was only thanks to Daisy's wild blast of her powers that prevented the four of them from being shredded by the gunfire coming from the skies.

“It's Daisy Johnson!” he distantly heard the shouts of those who witnessed Daisy's display of her powers, even though the four of them were still wearing the helmets and accouterments of Strike Delta. “Repeat, it's Daisy Johnson and rogue SHIELD agents!”

It was not a confirmation that they were back in their time, but it was a good indicator to Steve, even though it made their pursuers ever more reckless. Between Daisy's powers being unleashed, along with the rooftop jumping, the four of them somehow made it back to the rooftop of the building formerly owned by Roxxon. The _zing_ of bullets passing perilously close to them, along with their sudden _ping_ of deflection to another angle told Steve that the quinjet was definitely here.

Up ahead, he saw Natasha slap something in the air, and not a moment later, the ramp to the quinjet opened. As Natasha dashed inside to fire up the quinjet, Steve skidded to a halt. He turned around and whirled his bou around, deflecting a smattering of bullets. He saw the armed and armored figures of military and police personnel sweep out from the rooftop entrance.

Shots were fired from behind him, each bullet piercing cloth and bone, as several of their pursuers suddenly fell down. They were not dead, but James's aim had not been to kill, but rather disable – mostly either winging them in the arms or kneecapping them. It was only after the sweeping and bone-rattling hollow-ringing noise of Daisy unleashing her abilities in close proximity to him, that they were given a few seconds to breathe.

That was all they needed though, as Steve heard the familiar whine of the quinjet's engines rumbling to life. He, along with James and Daisy immediately dashed up the ramp, with him slapping the button to close it, as the quinjet rocketed into the air. Stumbling, he forced himself to keep his balance and quickly made his way to the copilot's chair, holstering the bou. He strapped himself in, as he took a quick scan of what the cockpit panels were telling him.

The cloak was disengaged to pump more power into the engines, and they already had several jet fighters on their tail as Natasha flew the quinjet in a multitude of evasive maneuvers to dodge gunfire. Missiles had not been launched yet from their aerial pursuers, but they were rapidly clearing the DC airspace. Quickly bringing up a map in a corner as he felt the tight pull of several g-forces in the long spiral that Natasha was executing at the moment, he scanned the weather patterns.

“Head here,” he stated, highlighting and cutting out a portion of the map with the coordinates highlighted. Sending it into the HUD portion of the cockpit's field of view, he saw it spring up as a transparent overlay on the windshield.

“A storm?!” he heard James exclaim from behind the two of them, and quickly glanced back to see Daisy and James sitting in the other two jump seats directly behind him and Natasha.

“Uh, dude...” came Daisy's worried voice. “Aren't you worried about lightning strikes or ice?”

“That shielding can only last thirty seconds Steve,” Natasha stated, her voice tight with stress and from the maneuvers that she was putting the quinjet through.

“They'll be crazy to follow us in,” he stated, trying to inject as much confidence as he could into it.

He knew that Natasha was right – the shielding system that the quinjet had was not designed for flying into a storm. It had been designed to hold atmosphere and structural integrity for a temporary sub-orbital flight, which they could not do – not with the amount of military jets scrambling after them. Nevertheless, flying into the storm was going to be the quickest way to lose their tails.

“You pilot, I'll monitor and divert everything that I can into the shield and engines,” she stated as she snapped the aircraft back into a level flight for a second.

That was all that was needed for her to transfer control of the aircraft from him to her. Steve immediately took the stick and throttle and adjusted accordingly to what their pursuers were doing. He had no choice, as engaging the cloak was going to be useless, not when they were skimming so close to the surface of the Atlantic ocean that their wash was spraying up seawater.

Several alerts lit up on the HUD, as Natasha shunted power from everywhere, including at least half of life support into the engines. As soon as that was done, Steve eased the throttle forward, feeling the inertial compensators within the quinjet faltering slightly as it became a little difficult to breathe, due to the g-forces. The cockpit indicator for the compensators was also flashing red. He continued to push, and as the quinjet slammed into the curtain of rain, a thunderous noise filled the cockpit.

Still, he did not ease up on the throttle as he glanced at the HUD to see that only a few of the numerous pursuers had dared to follow them in. As relieved as he was to see that the majority of his fellow brothers and sisters-in arms were not going to be reckless with their lives, he wished that all of them had left them alone. He really did not want to perform this particular maneuver, but considering that they were still firing missiles and trying to tag the quinjet, he had no other choice.

“Brace!” he shouted, and then yanked back on the stick as far as it would go.

The quinjet zoomed up in a parabolic arc, as he felt it shuddering slightly, between stall and lift. Lightning streaked down to the port side of the quinjet but thankfully didn't fork over to hit them, as he saw that only two of their pursuers followed him up this dangerous maneuver. The rest had peeled away and were no longer within the vicinity of the quinjet's radar.

At his roughly estimated apex of the parabolic arc, and with only about ten seconds left on the shielding indicator, he suddenly cut the engines. The quinjet fell like a stone, its parabolic trajectory changed without the momentum of the engines. The two pursuers overshot them, and by the time they reacted, Steve had restarted the engines and put the quinjet into a steep dive. He shot out of the heart of the storm and back to the lower altitude with only a half-second left on the shielding clock.

The quinjet burst out of the storm, free and clear of any pursuers. When he finally engaged the cloak and began to ease up on the throttle, Natasha was already evening out the power that had been poured into the systems. Steve quickly called up the map and set the coordinates for an old unused and abandoned SHIELD installation in the Azores. It was one of the few places where they could discreetly get fuel for the quinjet.

Daisy's sudden exclamation of “Jeez!” and laughter caused the tension in the cockpit to slowly bleed away.

“That...” James began as Steve turned slightly around in the copilot's seat after engaging the autopilot, and saw the man remove the helmet on his head. “I really have no words for that, except to say that that was incredible piloting on your part, Steve.”

“Thank you,” he answered, doing the same to his own helmet.

“Best roller coaster ride ever,” Daisy quipped, her helmet already discarded to the floor. “Minus the part where I thought we were going to get fried by lightning.”

“I'll be sure to tell Sam that you copied his maneuver,” Natasha spoke up, as Steve glanced over to see her impishly smiling.

“Recognized that, didn't you?” he asked, grinning slightly. While he had never performed the maneuver with a quinjet before, he had seen Sam in action with his Exo-Falcon suit to have pulled off the same maneuver several times to evade missiles. He just hadn't been sure if it would work in a similar situation for a quinjet.

“So, Agent Johnson,” Natasha said, gesturing towards the device clipped to Daisy's waist belt, bringing them back to the matter at hand. “Is that calibrating again?”

“Not sure,” the agent answered, pulling out the device and shaking it slightly. “You got a fine-tool toolbox? I mean, yeah, I don't know how it works, but the vibration pitch I'm sensing from it might be just a hair different than before. I'm not sure if it got damaged or something during the firefight.”

“Back here,” Natasha said, smoothly getting up from the pilot's seat and made her way to the rear of the quinjet. Daisy followed her, and even though Steve had sobered up with the reminder of what and where they had just left, he was curious.

He had to put that curiosity aside for the moment though, and activated several radio frequencies. Various chatter from the frequencies filled the interior of the quinjet, but it was not loud enough to drown out conversations. Still, he listened carefully to verify that they had truly returned to their point in time.

James had not followed Daisy or Natasha to the rear of the quinjet, and instead, silently indicated his request to sit in the pilot's seat – to which Steve merely nodded his assent. The agent had a concentrated look on his face, as he too was listening to the chatter over the radio. Steve occasionally saw him raise an eyebrow or make a 'hmm' noise in response to what was heard, but thus far, nothing jumped out at either of them.

“Ah damn, I think it's broken.”

Daisy's declaration a few minutes later drew Steve's attention away from the radio, as he glanced back to see a rather disappointing look on the young woman's face. Nothing had stood out in terms of his audio verification that they were not back in the time they had left – albeit with a few days lost, so he lowered the volume on the system some more and made his way to the back of the quinjet.

While he would have reasoned more that the blame should have been laid on the 0-8-4, he felt that the device was more to blame for their stumbling into 1984. Coulson and his team were still missing, but their only good lead had been proven to be not a great one. It was back to searching the internet, and discreetly scouring physical places for clues as to where the SHIELD team was.

“Well, at least we won't be stumbling into the past again,” James stated, folding his arms over his chest, looking a little relieved.

“Yeah,” he agreed. The adrenaline he had felt in the escape from the car park and thrill of the harrowing flight was slowly giving way to bone-numbing fatigue.

“They all didn't buy our story, did they?” Daisy asked, holstering the device. “Cuz I mean, I would like to think Stark, Agent Sousa, and Director Carter decided to help us out of the goodness of their hearts. But... I was getting the impression that at least Director Carter really wanted us out of there, no matter what it took.”

“Stark was convinced,” Natasha stated. “Sousa, not so much. Carter, definitely not. She was as unconvinced as her reputation preceded her. At least that was the scuttlebutt that veteran agents spoke about in the halls after she retired.”

“Agent Sousa had always been a difficult man to successfully lie to, even in our reality,” James spoke up.

“Was he also your Director Carter's husband?” Steve couldn't help but ask, slightly curious about the man who was Peggy's husband in this reality.

In deference to Peggy, and because he felt it had not been his place to ask, he had never asked Peggy about her husband whenever he had visited her in hospice. Even during the confessional conversation he had had with her before the four of them had returned from 1984, he had refrained from asking her about her life. It had been too emotionally painful for him to directly ask anyways.

“Yes,” came James's short reply.

Steve didn't press the issue, knowing that though he had never asked the other reality's Peggy about her husband, he knew what had become of that reality's Agent Daniel Sousa. The other reality's Sousa had been killed by that reality's Jiaying, during the first attempt at a SHIELD and Inhuman alliance negotiation.

“He's a good agent, a good man,” he found himself saying. “I'm glad Peggy had found someone to share her life with. I hoped that we didn't interfere with that too much.”

“They'll have a lot to talk about over Thanksgiving dinner besides arguing about baseball teams,” Daisy quipped, trying to lighten the mood slightly. It was a good attempt, but it didn't alleviate the heaviness that Steve felt return into his heart.

“Steve, you never read the file on Director Carter's husband?” Natasha gently asked.

He shook his head, saying, “Fury only gave me the physical files on the Commandos and Peggy. After joining SHIELD, it really wasn't my concern, and I didn't care to search through personnel information. I'm assuming you did so because of Fury's orders, or your own curiosity?”

She didn't immediately answer him. Instead, she uncharacteristically sighed and took a seat on the port side of the quinjet, gesturing for him to take a seat opposite of her. He did so, as did James and Daisy. Whatever she was about to say, it made Steve slightly apprehensive with some dread creeping into his stomach.

“I read the file after I got shot by the Winter Soldier in Odessa. Agent Daniel Sousa died the day we left, Steve,” she quietly stated. “It was never stated how he died on his files, but that rifle shot we heard just as we left... He was assassinated--”

“God, no,” he exclaimed, running a hand over his face as he realized who exactly had been the Winter Soldier—Bucky's target all along. “No... no,” he repeated, shaking his head. It was only a gentle hand upon his shoulder for a brief moment, from James, that he managed to look up to see the three looking at him with some concern.

“I told her, Nat,” he resignedly stated, knowing that he had to admit what he had done. “I told her who the Winter Soldier was, when she asked. Christ... and she _knows_ \-- she _knew_ that Bucky assassinated her husband.”

“He's still alive, still in Wakanda, Steve,” James spoke up, drawing his attention towards the agent. “Nothing's changed – at least nothing that I can remember from the two of you landing in our reality.”

“Madam Hydra is still dead in our reality, and we kicked major ass at that silo with Ghost Rider's help,” Daisy helpfully supplied.

“Which means, Director Carter didn't continue her pursuance--” Natasha began.

“She forgave him,” Steve interrupted, as he realized something that had stood out in both his heart-wrenching confession-conversation with Peggy, and what she had mentioned thirty years later. “She forgave Bucky for what he had done.”

He removed his hand from his face, but leaned back against the jump seat and frame, trying to make sense of what he knew, what he had told Peggy, and what she had said to him on both accounts. “I went back to visit her in DC a few months after SHIELD fell.”

“I remember. Stark was on your ass about security down there,” Natasha stated.

“I told Peggy about Bucky being the Winter Soldier, and she didn't look surprised at all. All she told me was to find him, bring him in from the cold, and bring him home.”

“Holy shit, a stable time loop,” Daisy exclaimed, looking slightly surprised as he glanced over at her.

“Stable time loop?” he questioned, inordinately glad to latch onto something else at the moment. He needed time – preferably alone and away from all of them – to process the enormous magnitude of what he had done. He also needed to process what had been revealed to him – he needed time to _think_.

“I'm not well versed in quantum mechanics, but I did read a lot of science-fiction novels,” Daisy stated. “I think, basically, the actions we did, what SHIELD and the others did, and what the Winter Soldier did in 1984 didn't change anything. I mean, we came back in time to here, and nothing seemed to have change. Of course, it's not a guarantee that nothing changed, but everything major in all of our lives hasn't.”

“We'll have to confirm that when we return to our reality, Daisy,” James spoke up. “But it is a good extrapolation to say that if nothing major changed here, nothing major most likely didn't change in our reality.”

Steve nodded, and before he could slip back into the endless, circular thoughts of what he had done to Peggy, he seized on the other pressing issue. “I think we should halt our search for Coulson and his team. That device led us astray. I'm not too keen on finding a way to fix it and using it again. Thoughts?”

“Concur,” Natasha said, nodding in agreement.

“Sorry guys,” Daisy said, looking slightly sheepish as she glanced down at the device.

“Agreed, but the fact that you had a Framework here as well still worries me,” James stated. “I hate the wait-and-see approach, but it looks like we have no other choice. LMDs running amok, with one assassinating a high-ranking commander in the US military, are another concern, but we definitely don't have ways to identify that in our reality.”

Steve managed to cover his flinch at James's words, knowing that it was completely unintentional. “We'll send the two of you back to the silo after refueling,” he said after a moment. “Then we'll rendezvous with Sam and Wanda, and see what's happened since we've been gone.”

“I would offer for the two of us to stay longer and help verify that the Framework and all of that stuff are not a threat, but yeah. It's too much of a risk for Daisy and I to stay,” James answered, nodding in agreement.

“All right then,” he stated, as Natasha merely looked at him a shrugged her agreement. Getting up, he made his way back to the cockpit seat. To his relief, no one immediately followed him to sit in the copilot's seat, or call after him. He could hear the low voices of the three talking about time travel, but tuned it out. Sitting down, he took off the autopilot and recalculated the flight plan and path that would take them from the Azores to the Siberian silo.

It was only after a few minutes he re-engaged the autopilot that he heard and felt Natasha's presence behind his seat. “Do you want me to drop you off in London, and go pick up Sam and Wanda on my own, Steve?”

Despite his earlier statement to Natasha as they were leaving 1984 about being all right, not wanting to visit Peggy's grave, and making his peace, Steve clenched his teeth. He was not 'all right' – not by a long shot. He knew that he needed more than the time that Natasha would take to pick up Sam and Wanda from outside of Los Angeles. Yet, he was grateful for the time alone that she was offering him.

While he knew that Peggy may have stated that she had 'forgiven him' before they had left, she had said nothing of the sort thirty years later. Steve did not recall seeing any sort of pain, regret, or admonition in her eyes when he had told her about the Winter Soldier – about Bucky – and about the fall of SHIELD that day at the hospice. There had only been sympathy, understanding, and a seriousness about her that he had drawn strength from.

It was more than he thought he deserved from her, even if she had kept the knowledge of Bucky being the Winter Soldier from him, every single time he had visited her.

“Yes, please,” he quietly stated.

* * *

_Era: Cold War_

_Location: Siberian Region of the USSR_

 

The bitterly cold wind howled as he punched in the numeric code to access the entrance and lift shaft to enter the silo. As the massive door creaked open, he sensed someone approaching from behind and turned ever so slightly. The Black Widow, wrapped up in the warmest coat possible, was standing a meter away from him. Her head was bereft of any protective covering, but she seemed unconcerned about the cold. Her flame-red hair whipped this way and that, seemingly a torch light beacon of red among the white blizzard.

He entered the silo, and she followed him in. The massive outer door cranked close after a few seconds, enveloping both of them in silence in the tiny 'foyer' before the lift that would bring them down to subterranean levels. The weak, flickering light in the area continued to blink, but the lift did not need to be called up from the depths.

“Доброе утро, солдат,” she unexpectedly said.

“Доброе утро,” he stated after a moment, glancing over at her before stepping into lift. He didn't know why she continued to stare at him, her eyes unblinking for a few moments, before seemingly shaking herself out of whatever fit she had fallen in. She stepped in after him, positioning herself next to him, as the metal doors shuddered close.

The grinding of the gears made it hard to hear, but he had nothing else to say to her, as they rode the lift down in silence. He noticed that though she kept her eyes forward, she did occasionally attempt to glance over at him, as if trying to puzzle him out. He ignored her, maintaining his all around awareness as the lift finally ground to a halt. The doors opened, revealing the gritty, dirty interior of the silo's ground floor in all of its glory. Steam vents hissed, and the noxious smell of gasoline and other materials being processed in the silo hit him.

The Black Widow stepped out first, and the Winter Soldier silently followed her. He kept himself three paces away from her, as he took a brief glance around him. He was where orders from Karpov told him to report to upon completion of his mission. That had been completed in accordance with the given parameters, but something in the back of his mind was telling him that this place was not _home_.

 

~*~*~*~

 


	7. Epilogue: Winter's Ghost

 

**Epilogue: Winter's Ghost**

_Era: Modern_

_Location: Wakanda_

 

The chime was anything but a chime, even if Shuri and the other Wakandan scientists had insisted that the noise was a 'chime'. To Bucky, the noise of an incoming encrypted signal sounded more like a cross between a high-pitched bell and taxi horn. Yet the level of the noise was not either, and instead was quite soft enough that nothing outside of the two-room hut could hear it. It was what he wanted, and it was what the scientists had built and ensured him that it would function as. He didn't have things to hide – not anymore – but this clandestine communications signal gave him an odd sense of peace.

Bucky knew that he could ignore it, as it did most of the times whenever the signal 'chirped' at him. However, he didn't – at least not this particular time. Placing the soldering tool down, he reached over with his right hand – his only hand now – and waved his fingers over the receptor. The device stopped its near-incessant noise as a small 3-D holographic profile resolved itself a few inches away from the device, seemingly floating a few inches above the workbench.

“It's done,” Bucky heard his counterpart state without preamble or a greeting.

“Good,” he curtly answered, but rather than immediately disconnect as he wanted to do, he supposed that he did owe his counterpart at least a response other than acknowledgment. Without his counterpart, Bucky knew that his own past and the other reality's future would have been seriously changed. It was only because his counterpart had acted upon the memory that he had told him about a few weeks ago, that their two realities remained as they were.

“Thank you,” he added after a few moments, glancing down at the soldering tool briefly before looking back up.

Silence answered his words and it stretched for at least a few seconds. Just as he was about to reach over and disconnect the communications line, his counterpart quietly with anger in his tone, stated, “You put Steve through hell, Bucky.”

“I know,” he answered.

Bucky wondered if this was about to turn back into the endless debate he and his counterpart had been having ever since the clandestine communications signal relay had been established. He was not recovered enough to warrant even contacting Steve about his progress. He'd rather be completely well than not be, if he wanted to return into Steve's life – he owed it both himself and to Steve to. He did not want to be a burden on his best friend's shoulders.

His counterpart thought otherwise, and though there was a silent threat hanging that one day, his counterpart would contact Steve to let him know how he, Bucky, was doing, it hadn't manifested thus far. Whatever was holding his counterpart back wasn't entirely his concern, but he knew that he and his counterpart were not friends.

Bucky had initially told himself that this clandestine relay, and the 'chats' they have been having for the past few months were just to ensure that nothing like the abduction of five super-soldiers and invasion of a resurgence HYDRA would happen again. That what he and his counterpart were 'discussing' were just preventive measures. It was not true, not at least entirely true.

They were... for the lack of a better word that he couldn't come up with: pen pals. They had shared more common experiences in their childhood than either of them had initially realized, but their paths had wildly diverged after both of them had turned eighteen.

“You're not doing any better?” his counterpart surprisingly asked, instead of the usual cajoling that he had been doing to him lately.

“I think I've hit a plateau,” he answered. Oddly enough, his counterpart was the only person he felt he could talk honestly to. It felt like speaking to a mirror, though with different life experiences to allow for answers that he hadn't already thought of himself. “Both Shuri and the therapist says that it might happen from time to time, and that I need to examine my memories to figure out what is causing the plateau.”

“The two images you had Daisy and I wear on the photo-static veils... who were they?” his counterpart asked instead.

It was always unspoken, always implied that he, Bucky, was free to share memories with his counterpart, and that his counterpart would never judge him for the memories. They were mirrors of each other, and had Shuri not suggested setting up the clandestine communications relay, Bucky did not think he would have been making as fast of a progress in regaining his former shelf. At least that was what the Wakandan therapist he saw in addition to Shuri, had stated.

“Emily Hattersfield and David Brewster,” he answered.

“Old friends of yours?”

“During the war.” He tightened his jaw for a moment, as he remembered searching on the internet and reading about the fates of the two after the war. “She was a code breaker working under Agent Carter's detail, and he was an engineer working as Howard Stark's employee.”

“What happened to them?” his counterpart asked.

“About two years after the war ended, Emily was hit by a car and killed while walking across a street in London on a rainy night,” he said after a few moments. “Police found the car, but no prints or any evidence as to who was driving it was ever found. David was found dead in their home a few days after that. Police reports say that it was a self-inflicted overdose.”

“They must have meant something to you, if you're digging through police reports to find the details,” he heard him say.

Bucky mentally grimaced, as he didn't know if this particular set of memories was the reason why he hadn't been getting a lot of sleep in the past few days. Still, other than the therapist, his counterpart was the only other person he talked to about the vast amount of memories that he had not written in the journal. What he had written, what Steve had read in that other reality, had only been a drop in the ocean of fragments – including the ten that were wrapped around the Winter Soldier activation phrase.

“They were the first two agents I trained, mainly to help supplement my intelligence reports to Agent Carter,” he stated. “I think I was the one who killed them. While retrieving Dottie Underwood, I think one or both of them saw me and recognized me for who I was. Not as the Winter Soldier, but as Bucky Barnes. It didn't matter anyways, but as they posed a threat to my anonymity and retrieval of Underwood, I had to kill them.”

“Hattersfield, I can see the staged accident being impersonal, but Brewster's death... that's personal,” his counterpart pointed out. “That's an up-close-and-personal assassination. From what I know of you as the Winter Soldier, you don't do up-close assassinations. The Winter Soldier assassinated from long distance, so as to maintain the reputation. Howard and Maria Stark's staged accident deaths not withstanding, that's not the Winter Soldier's style. Black Widows do personal assassinations, especially in the vein of a drug overdose. Why'd you opt for that route in Brewster's assassination?”

“I don't know,” he said, and it was the truth. That was the only part of the memories that he had of the two that he didn't remember. Yet, he had a sneaking suspicion based on his memories of the young engineer that the assassination he carried out were because of said memories.

“Did seeing us run around DC jog anything back then?” his counterpart asked.

“A little,” he admitted. “Flashes of images mostly. But Karpov had my mind re-wiped when I returned per the Black Widow's recommendation.”

“So she was there to keep an eye on you as you were to her and her predecessor.”

“Yes, she was,” he said, nodding. “The only difference was that we did not have the kind of relationship you had with the Black Widow of your reality.”

“Understandable,” his counterpart said, nodding. “My relationship with the Black Widow within the Framework was only to keep her away from Stevie. Yours was to serve HYDRA's plans.”

He frowned slightly. It was not common for his counterpart to get defensive about anything. His counterpart's demeanor matched almost every aspect of himself before the war – even down to the slight arrogance that was carried upon them.

“And yet you're defending yourself.”

“Stevie and I had an argument recently,” was all his counterpart stated.

Bucky knew that he could pry, he knew he had the right to, as his counterpart had made no excuse for prying into his issues. But he didn't, and it was not just because he had enough on his own plate to contend with. Whatever was going on – again – between his counterpart and Stephanie Rogers was not his concern. He thought whatever interpersonal issues between the two had been resolved prior to the assault on the Siberian HYDRA silo base, but like all relationships, everyone had their ups and downs.

“It's getting late,” he stated at last, sensing that his counterpart had exhausted all of his questions for now.

“One last thing before you sign off,” his counterpart said, causing him to pause in his action to disconnect the line. “I've taken a deep cover assignment. No one knows about this line, but should the worst happen, it's been logged into my Will. While I'm gone, I hope that you'll find the courage to get in contact with Steve and tell him that you're doing better. He's hurting, Bucky, and he could really use some good news right now.”

“We'll see,” Bucky answered. Just before he waved his fingers over the device to disconnect the line, he said, “Good hunting on the assignment, James.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

FINI

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 07 Dec 2018 - And that's it for this story! Thank you for reading and leaving comments and/or kudos! Like the first story, I didn't expect this to be read as much as it has garnered thus far, primarily due to the setting and circumstances behind it. I hope that I captured the sense of paranoid tension in the air during the latter part of the Cold War.
> 
> As for Steve and Bucky, and their journey to keep their promise to each other, the next story that will be written is the fifth story: The Paths We Take. Posting wise, it'll show up as the third in the series until I write the World War Two stories and rearrange the series into their proper format.
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and I hope to see you in the next fic! Cheers!


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